


Haikyuu!! Short Works

by parenthetic (renaissance)



Series: Short Work Collections [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Multi, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 04:04:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 103
Words: 34,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12124131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/pseuds/parenthetic
Summary: A collection of Haikyuu!! ficlets ranging from one sentence to several thousand words, posted on tumblr and dreamwidth in 2015-16. Ships tagged are those which feature most prominently; check individual chapter titles for ficlet details and other notes.





	1. Tsukkiyama + spy/cooking competition AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from puwao on tumblr, tsukkiyama + a mix of a cooking competition and spy AU. 11/9/16
> 
> Warnings: genre-typical violence

Yamaguchi checked his thermometer for the tenth time in half as many minutes—he didn’t like this part, the pressure of having to cook something in so little time. Then again, that was the whole purpose of a cooking competition. So maybe he didn’t like _any_ of it.

It hadn’t been his decision to take part in SuperChef in the first place. Yet here he was, trying to replicate the most elaborate cake he’d ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on. He could bake—and before all this, he might even have said he enjoyed baking—but this was just too much. Layer upon layer of sponge and ganache taunted him, a raspberry glaze called his name from the other side of the bench, and the second batch of tempered chocolate that would make up the decoration needed constant monitoring, after his first batch had hardened too quickly and lay abandoned in a flat tray. And all in two hours!

The other thing was the celebrity aspect of it. Yamaguchi hadn’t realised that cooking competitions were so popular these days, but whenever he left the hotel where they’d put up the contestants he saw a SuperChef competitor on the cover of a glossy magazine. After a few such experiences, he stopped going outside at all. If his cover had been tenuous before, it was surely blown by now.

But this was his job. He repeated it as mantra to himself when the pressure threatened to overwhelm him: _this is my job_.

His tempered chocolate still wasn’t ready. He kept one eye on it and decided to move back to the raspberry glaze. All too often, contestants were chided for leaving things to the last minute. Yamaguchi didn’t want to be one of them. He wanted to win, in a perverse sort of way, but he was surprised he’d made it this far.

The host was milling around the benches. They had three chefs on the show to act as judges, and one host, to generally make fun of the contestants while they were screwing up their dishes. Tsukishima, that was his name—and Yamaguchi wasn’t sure what to think of him. He was rude, sure, but Yamaguchi suspected that was just part of his public persona. There was something innocent about him, a genuine interest in whatever they were cooking that he tried very hard to conceal. And he was kind of cute, too.

“Ah, Yamaguchi.”

Tsukishima held his microphone in front of Yamaguchi with a deft flick of the wrist. Looking up like he hadn’t been aware Tsukishima was coming, Yamaguchi put on a nervous smile. “Hi, Tsukishima.”

“How’s your tempered chocolate going?”

“I think it looks alright,” Yamaguchi said, whisking his raspberry reduction with a pair of electric beaters. “I’ve been keeping an eye on it.”

Tsukishima hummed. “It’s taking a while,” he said. “Aren’t you worried you’ll run out of time?”

“A little bit,” Yamaguchi said. He tried to make it sound like an admission. “But I have most of my other elements, so I’m confident I should be able to put something together.”

“And the frosting?” Tsukishima asked.

Yamaguchi froze. Where _was_ the frosting?

The answer was simple: he hadn’t made it. He had forgotten to make it. A quick glance at the other benches told him that most of the other contestants were ahead of him. He had forgotten to make the frosting, and he was doomed.

“Well, don’t worry about it,” Tsukishima said blithely, “I’m sure you can—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence, and for a second Yamaguchi was glad for it. Then he realised that Tsukishima had cut himself off because the window of the studio had shattered, and a crew of masked assailants had come vaulting through on ropes, guns brandished.

Perhaps it was instinctual for everyone to drop to the floor when faced with such danger, but not for Yamaguchi. His first priority was Tsukishima—as Tsukishima staggered back in shock, Yamaguchi pulled him down and crouched on top of him. Tsukishima’s hands went slack and his microphone rolled away.

“Everybody freeze!” one of the intruders shouted.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Tsukishima said.

Yamaguchi sighed. “Just shut up—they’re here for you?”

“How the hell you do you know that?” Tsukishima demanded.

It was a good question. Maybe if they had more time, Yamaguchi would have paused to explain it. Maybe he would’ve reminded Tsukishima that the former controversial host of So You Want To Be An Idol who made a living by making acerbic comments might’ve also made a few enemies along the way. Maybe he would have also pointed out that one of the contestants who Tsukishima had critiqued so harshly was the daughter of a very wealthy, very powerful, very _dangerous_ “businessman.” And he might even have told Tsukishima that for the last few years, various spies have been shadowing him, and Yamaguchi was only the latest of those.

As it was, they didn’t have any time at all. Yamaguchi had to get Tsukishima out of this in one piece—that was his job.

“We’re here for Tsukishima Kei,” the same intruder called out. “Hand him over and no-one gets hurt.”

“I hope they’ve stopped recording,” Tsukishima said, his voice emotionless. “I’d hate for this to be broadcast live.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Yamaguchi hissed.

Another intruder joined the chorus: “Tsukishima Kei! Where is he?”

Yamaguchi had to think fast. He wanted to get this over with quickly, because if any of the intruders moved a little closer to his bench they would see Tsukishima, and then he’d be done for. He had seen four of them come in through the window—four, he could take in a fight, but it would be hard. He needed to immobilise them before they tried to fight him.

This was a recipe for disaster.

“You,” he whispered to Tsukishima, “stay right there.”

Tsukishima’s blank expression was enough agreement. Yamaguchi sprung to his feet, and before any of the intruders could react he smashed his fist down onto his tray of hard chocolate. When he looked up, the intruders were closer than he’d assumed. That was good. That way, it was easier for him to aim his throws.

He sent the largest shard of chocolate towards the nearest intruder, catching him in the shoulder. The intruder cried out, but Yamaguchi didn’t pause to react. He snatched up raspberry reduction and aimed the bowl away from him, turning the electric whisk up to the highest setting. When he got the right angle, the whisks sent a spray of hot liquified fruit out. It caught two of the intruders in the eyes, which was a start, but the fourth was reaching for his gun, and the first was pulling the chocolate out of his shoulder.

Then, Yamaguchi remembered his bowl of melted chocolate on the stove—out of the corner of his eye, he saw that it had exceeded the perfect temperature for tempering, but it was at just the right temperature for scalding some goons with inadequate face protection. He used the whisk again, ducking his head down so that his eyes would be safe. The problem with this was that he couldn’t see where he was aiming, but he heard a few reassuring screams.

What he _could_ see was the rest of the kitchen studio. Something incredible was happening around him. One contestant started spraying whipped cream at the intruders, and another hurled their entire cake-in-progress with a panicked yell. Another  hurled a bowl of fluffy frosting at the intruder holding a gun, and it missed him entirely, but covered him with a goopy mess of red buttercream. In this light, it could’ve been blood. The studio was a mess of flying food, a cacophony of shouting. Yamaguchi hadn’t noticed the noise until then.

His melted chocolate ran out, and he put it down in favour of throwing more hardened shards. The intruders were retreating—the one with the gun had dropped it—and one of them was talking into an earpiece.

The studio manager came out, waving a phone in the air. “I’ve called the police!” she said. “They’re on their way, so you’d better not move!”

This was where Yamaguchi came in. He vaulted over his bench and towards the intruders. There was no rope on hand, so he needed to improvise. Luckily, that was day one of spy school. Yamaguchi took off his apron and used the strings to bind two of the disoriented intruders together by the hands. When he was done, there were five more aprons lying at his feet. That was more than adequate to tie them up.

The manager had been right—the police showed up within minutes, and took the intruders away. That left the studio crew to clean up the mess, and Yamaguchi to do a bit of explaining.

“What just happened?” Tsukishima was livid. “Is anyone going to tell me what just happened?”

All of a sudden, Yamaguchi was too exhausted to go through the whole story from the beginning. “Just be glad you’re safe,” he said.

“And who are you to tell me that?” Tsukishima snapped.

Yamaguchi took an ID card out of his pocket and held it out. “I’m the intelligence officer who’s been keeping an eye on you these last few months,” he said, “and if I wasn’t here, that could’ve ended badly.”

“Well,” Tsukishima said, begrudgingly, “thanks, I guess.”

There was something so endearing about his stifled gratitude. Yamaguchi couldn’t help but smile. “You can make it up to me sometime,” he said. “We could talk about this over dinner.”

“Sure,” Tsukishima said. He cast a glance back at Yamaguchi’s bench. “But you’re cooking.”


	2. Tsukkiyama + locker room shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from dancewiththeclowns on tumblr: "Hey, have you seen the…? Oh.” 3/2/15
> 
> Warnings: sexual references

“Hey, have you seen the— _oh_.”

— _the towel I left lying around_ , Tadashi finishes in his mind. The words don’t quite make it out of his mouth.

He _had_ been looking for his towel in the changing room, by the showers. The towel that’s currently wrapped around Tsukki’s waist. The towel that Tsukki is wearing and  _nothing else—_ there is a _lot_  of nothing else.

In the almost three years he’s had to get used to the changing room at Karasuno, Tanaka shirtless and all, _this_  is something new.

Slapping a hand over his eyes, Tadashi takes a step backwards. “Um, Tsukki… why are you using my towel?”

“Is it a problem?” Tsukki asks. Of _course_  he doesn’t see anything with the way he’s standing there, dripping with water and _wearing Tadashi’s towel_.

“I’ve used your towels before,” Tsukki continues, which, technically, is true, but he’s used them at _sleepovers_  or on _camps_ , and he’s never been in the same room as Tadashi when he’s done it.

“Sure,” Tadashi says, opening his fingers just a bit to peer through the cracks. “It’s just that, um—”

“Did you need to use it?” Tsukki asks.

 _How_  can he be so oblivious?

“Well, that, and—”

“Would you rather it had stayed dry so you could put it in your bag?”

Tadashi let his fingers slip a bit more. “Tsukki, are you doing this on purpose?”

Tsukki raises an eyebrow. “What, wearing your towel? I’m not doing it just for fun, if that’s what you mean.”

“You _know_  what I mean,” Tadashi says.

The smirk on Tsukki’s face tells Tadashi that, yes, Tsukki knows _exactly_  what he means. Which means, in Tadashi’s opinion, that Tsukki is now officially fair game for being teased right back.

“Alright,” Tadashi says, taking his hand off his face completely. “Can I have it back, then?”

He doesn’t quite manage to say it without stammering, but it’s worth it for the way Tsukki goes bright red from head to toe—and Tadashi knows this, because he can see pretty much all the places where Tsukki could possibly be blushing.

Tsukki wrings his hands together. “Turn around.”

Tadashi does as he’s bid, laughing. “Sorry, Tsukki,” he says.

“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” Tsukki says, and a second later, Tadashi feels the wet towel hit the back of his head, and he stumbles forward.

 _Nice serve_ , Tadashi thinks. And then he realises— _Tsukki is not wearing any clothes_. He is certain his face is redder than Tsukki’s now.

“You know what,” Tadashi says, shrugging the towel off his back, “you can keep it.”


	3. Oisuga + secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from vilechill on tumblr: "Can I tell you a secret?" 3/2/15

“Can I tell you a secret?” Oikawa whispers.

He’s sleep-talking. Oh my god, he’s _sleep-talking_ , slumped across their desk in the library, textbooks leaving marks in his arms and his laptop keeping his head warm.

Suga has spent the last half-hour viciously ignoring his assignment and staring at Oikawa while he sleeps, which has been the delightful opposite of productive. It doesn’t matter, though—he’ll just finish it when he gets back to his dorm.

And he’s been doing quite well at repressing the whole I Am Staring At Someone While They Are Asleep And Kind Of Feel Creepy About It thing, but now Oikawa is _sleep-talking_ , and Suga blinks in surprise. Now he _really_  can’t tear his eyes away.

The thing is, this isn’t the first time. Since Suga and Oikawa ran into each other on the first day of semester in their shared anatomy lecture, they’ve been spending a lot of time together, and more often than not, Suga finds himself staring. The problem is that, even though Oikawa is kind of annoying and clingy and nosy, he is _beautiful_. He’s just plain gorgeous, stunning, eye-catching, and Suga’s furious at himself for not being able to look away.

He knows that plenty of people find Oikawa attractive—since it _is_  incontrovertible fact—and that Oikawa probably knows this. But Suga has fallen, and he can’t get up, not when Oikawa is so frustratingly friendly to him all the time.

Suga is about to wake Oikawa up, so that he can end his torture, when—

“Can I?” Oikawa says, softer this time. “Can I tell you?”

He’s still asleep. Suga can’t take this. Maybe if he responds, Oikawa will wake up.

“Sure,” he says, as loud as he can in a library, “you can tell me.”

Oikawa smiles in his sleep. “I _like_  you,” he says, so quietly that Suga can’t tell if he’s heard correctly.

When it sinks in, Suga loses his grip on reality and his chair loses its grip on the floor—he hurtles backwards and crashes onto his back, letting out a yelp of surprise. His head feels fuzzy and his legs are aching, and then he sees Oikawa’s face hovering above him and he thinks he’s finally gone mad. He readjusts, and realises that Oikawa is leaning over from the other side of the desk, peering down at him with a confused expression.

“Suga-chan, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Suga says, pulling himself to his feet and picking up the chair. “I fell over.”

“If I wasn’t sleeping, I would have been able to stop you,” Oikawa says, frowning.

He’s even pretty when he frowns. Suga has to do something about this. Now, after _that_ , it’s practically an obligation.

“You were talking in your sleep,” he says. “I got such a fright I fell off my chair.”

Oikawa laughs at that. “Yeah, that’s a thing I do, sometimes. What did I say that was so scary?”

Suga chickens out.

“It’s a secret,” he mumbles.

“Mean!” Oikawa says. “At least give me a hint!”

Suga shakes his head, and starts gathering his stuff.

“Okay,” Oikawa presses, “will you tell me if I take you out for dinner?”

“Now?” Suga says, startled. “Oikawa, I have to finish my assignment—”

“ _Please_ , Suga-chan?”

Suga shakes his head, smiling. “Is this a bribe?”

As he makes for the exit, Oikawa gathers his textbooks and his laptop and rushes after Suga. He catches up once they’re outside the library.

“No,” Oikawa says, and, raising his voice, he adds, “it’s a _date_.”

 

* * *

 

That night, back in Suga’s dorm, he finally tells Oikawa what he said in his sleep.


	4. Oisuga + a rainy day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an anonymous prompt on tumblr: "That's a good look for you." 4/2/15

“That’s a good look on you,” someone says, and Tooru looks up with a start. As though his day couldn’t get any worse, now a stranger is making fun of him.

Tooru was late to school—he missed the bus, then he ran his bike off the road and into a ditch, and had to walk the rest of the way—then he fell asleep in class just as the teacher asked him a question, and at lunch Iwa-chan ditched him for an arm-wrestling competition, and his other friends went off to work on the assignment that Tooru finished days ago. Then, on the way home, dragging a broken bike behind him—because he couldn’t very well take it on the bus—it started raining.

Now, it’s pouring, Tooru is soaking, his bike is still broken, a car splashed mud all over his white blazer, and there is a stranger making fun of him.

Only—he’s not a stranger. He’s Karasuno’s number 2, the refreshing setter with the beauty spot and the rapidfire strategic mind that left Tooru furious at Inter High, and absolutely _seething_  at Spring High.

“You’re no prize yourself,” Tooru says.

Except, he totally is, because he’s standing under a bright yellow umbrella and beaming like the sun, and even though Tooru’s seen him up close before, there’s something about this situation that makes him shiver.

It could be that he’s standing in the rain.

“I was just kidding,” Refreshing-kun says.

There’s a sharp gust of wind, and Tooru looks longingly at the umbrella. “Room for one more under there?” he asks.

Refreshing-kun smiles, and all is right in the world. “Of course!” he says. “You look bedraggled.”

“It’s been a long day,” Tooru says.

He slips under the umbrella so that only the hand supporting his bike is getting wet.

“No kidding,” Refreshing-kun says, glancing at the bicycle. “Oh! I’m Suga, by the way.”

“I’m Tooru,” he says, a bit redundantly.

“Okay, Tooru-kun,” Suga says, laughing. “Which way are you heading? I’ll walk you home.”

Tooru shifts a little further under the umbrella, so that their arms brush together as they walk.

“Actually,” Suga says, before Tooru can respond, “I live just around the corner, so if you want to stop by my house and change into something dry… ?”

“Won’t your clothes be a bit small for me, Suga-chan?” Tooru says, because otherwise the word _yes_  would have left his mouth so fast that he’d have hurt his tongue.

“Don’t worry,” Suga says, “I’m sure they’ll look good on you.”


	5. Ennofuta + Hogwarts AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from San: ennofuta + love letters by owl. 7/3/15

Having a pen-pal was fun, they said. Getting letters from a student at another school would be an experience like no other, they said. Writing to someone about your life would be cathartic, they said.

Chikara has come to the conclusion that they—whoever they are—are _wrong_.

It’s only a week into the Hogwarts-Durmstrang Correspondence Program, and Chikara has already exchanged ten letters back and forth with Kenji Futakuchi, who is apparently the star Chaser on Durmstrang’s Quidditch team. Chikara thinks that maybe it would have been better if he’d been assigned a quiet correspondent, one who didn’t use reams of parchment to describe a single meal, or laboriously describe every single bit of gossip that transverses the halls of Durmstrang.

So, he drafts a letter.

 _It’s been interesting corresponding with you so far, however as this was just an experiment in relations between our two schools, I feel that it’s time for our acquaintance to come for an end. Unfortunately, I can’t make time for this between focusing on my studies and being a prefect. I’d like to convey my apologies, and_ —

An owl hits his window.

Chikara jumps to his feet, recognising Futakuchi’s owl, and opens the window to let it in. The message tied to its leg isn’t as long as any of the others. In fact, when Chikara unfurls it, it’s just a scrap of parchment and a photograph.

_This is what I look like! You should send me a picture too!_

The attached photo is of a tall young man on a broom, brandishing a Quaffle dangerously. Chikara squints.

“Oh no,” he says to his empty dorm, “he’s hot.”

He contemplates sending back a letter that just says _Sorry, I’m ugly_ —because there’s no way he can send that letter breaking it off, not now that he knows he’s been corresponding with someone so unfairly good-looking.

He vanishes his draft letter with a quick _Evanesco_  and hides the photograph in his locked drawer, the one that not even Noya has worked out how to open.

He drafts another letter.

 

* * *

 

They’ve been writing back-and-forth for a month now, and Chikara still hasn’t sent a photo. He’s been working up the courage, and failing. The only thing that’s changed is that now he looks forward to Futakuchi’s letters, instead of dreading them. They’ve got common interests in Muggle movies and advanced hexing and cursing, and Chikara can’t _believe_  he almost cut this off.

One evening, though, there’s some bad news. Chikara’s at his desk, trying to study while the rest of his dormmates yell about 

_I suppose you heard about the inter-school Quidditch matches, huh? We’ll be at Hogwarts in a few weeks, so I expect to see you in person! I’ve got so much planned. I know technology doesn’t work on your grounds but we can probably sneak out to Hogsme-whatsit and hook up to a computer. Magic is great. I can fit as many DVDs as I like in my luggage!_

_Although, just to make CERTAIN that I recognise you, you should send me a photo. Doesn’t have to be beautiful, just enough that I know what to expect. Please and thank you, Ennoshita! Don’t be a stranger!!!_

Chikara has to hold back a sigh. He’s not sure if he’s ready to meet his pen-pal in person. He will probably never be ready.

Unfortunately, there’s some sense in what Futakuchi says. It’d be awkward if one of them didn’t recognise the other. So, hesitantly, Chikara turns around and clears his throat.

“Um,” he says, “do any of you have a camera?”

Ryuu is jumping to his feet before anyone can respond, grabbing Kazuhito’s camera and yelling for Noya and Hisashi to hold Chikara down. He just lets them do it, and sends the photo without thinking twice. It’s easier that way.

 

* * *

 

Chikara barely slept the night before, and he’s slumped over his breakfast when a flurry of owls enter the Great Hall. Futakuchi’s owl lands in front of him, and— _no_ , this is not happening.

It’s a Howler.

The bright red envelope twitches nervously, and Chikara knows that if he doesn’t open it right away it’ll burst into flames, which, apart from anything else, is a fire hazard. So, taking a deep breath, he grabs the Howler and runs as fast as he can away from the Great Hall. Once he’s down a few corridors, he rips it open and lets it scream.

_YOU ARE LITERALLY THE MOST ATTRACTIVE WIZARD ON THE PLANET! HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?! WHEN I GET TO HOGWARTS, WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME? WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME BEFORE THEN? THANKS IN ADVANCE!_

Chikara takes a deep breath.

There is _no way_  that went unheard, it was so loud, but he is sort of beyond caring. “Points for originality,” he mutters.

He slumps against the nearest wall as the Howler disintegrates. It’s a few moments before he regains his balance, and then, without a care for his unfinished breakfast, he takes the stairs twice at a time on the way to the library and spends the next few hours poring over a reference guide to turning a letter into a Howler.

Futakuchi is going to get the best “yes” ever.


	6. Oisuga + Hogwarts AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from lemedy on tumblr: oisuga + sneaking around after curfew. 7/3/15

Suga does a quick once-over of the corridors leading down to the basement, but it’s a quiet night. Usually there are a few first years chancing it, invincible in their ignorance, but all Suga has to do is tell them off, and he can get back to his dorm. Even though there was none of that, it’s been a long day, and he’s looking forward to sleeping for ten hours straight and ignoring his responsibilities for a bit.

Unfortunately, when he reaches the Hufflepuff dorms, his stupid, disobedient boyfriend is sitting outside like he owns the place, with a grin on his face that means trouble.

“Koushi! Let’s go on an adventure!”

Suga rolls his eyes. “It’s curfew, Tooru. You should be in your common room.”

“Everyone’s working,” Tooru says, “ _even_  Iwa-chan.”

"Because we have a Transfiguration essay due tomorrow,” Suga says.

“Yeah, but,” Tooru says, “I finished it _days_ ago. Don’t you want to _hang out_ , Koushi?”

Suga sits down next to Tooru, folding his arms over his knees. “Remind me again who let you be a prefect?”

Tooru bumps their shoulders together. “Does that mean you’ll come with me?”

Suga is tempted. He’s very sorely tempted. He and Tooru have only been going out since the end of fifth year—about three months, most of them spent apart over summer—so it’s still sort of the honeymoon period.

"What sort of adventure did you have in mind?” he asks, even though he knows full well the question is just stalling on a _yes_ , and Tooru would know it too.

“The kind where we do things that prefects aren’t supposed to do,” Tooru says. He leaps to his feet. “Come on! Let’s explore!”

“We’ve been here for five years,” Suga says. “Surely there’s nowhere new to explore?”

Tooru scoffs at that. “It’s Hogwarts! There’s always something new to learn. Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Suga says, and Tooru extends a hand to help him stand. “You’re such a typical Ravenclaw sometimes. _Always something new to_ —”

"I can’t help it that you were born with no sense of curiosity,” Tooru jokes, dragging Suga down the corridor by the hand.

“Are you curious, or just really desperate?” Suga asks, freeing his hand to jab Tooru in the side.

“I’m— _ouch_ , Koushi!—I’m not desperate; I just don’t want to wait until the next Hogsmeade weekend to treat you like a prince.”

"You’re embarrassing,” Suga says.

Tooru swings an arm around Suga’s shoulder—he’s taller, so he can get away with that, but it does also make him easier to tickle. Suga just nudges him with his elbow.

“Will you let me embarrass you some more?” Tooru asks. “I was thinking of telling my friends that we’re going out.”

“Doesn’t Hajime already know?”

Tooru laughs. “Well, yeah, but, I have more friends than just Iwa-chan.”

“Sure,” Suga says. “I mean, you can tell them, if you want. I should probably tell Daichi and Asahi…”

They come to a stop outside an empty classroom.

“And we shouldn’t sneak around anymore,” Suga says, for good measure.

Tooru turns and swings his other arm over Suga’s shoulder, so they’re face-to-face and closer than they’d ever be in this corridor during the day.

“Koushi, are you suggesting that we put our adventure on hold and take advantage of an empty classroom?”

“Among other things,” Suga says.

“Alright!” Tooru says, pulling away and dashing to the classroom door. He holds it open and gestures for Suga to go through.

“One thing,” Suga says. “Since this is _really_  against the rules… we should probably take off our prefect badges first.”


	7. Oisuga + meeting at a party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Side-story to [Wingman](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3612015). The reason Daichi kicked Oikawa out of his house. 6/4/15
> 
> Warnings: alcohol

Tooru has been having a distinctly badnight. It started out _so well_ , too! But then _someone_ had to ruinit with his _successful flirting_ , someone who shall _not be named_ because he had the audacity to _swap numbers_ with Karasuno’s former manager—the pretty one with the beauty mark near her mouth—and Tooru is _certain_ that Iw—that the _person who will not be named_ is going to _pull_ and it’s all Tooru’s fault for being too good a wingman.

He gravitates towards the edge of the room and notices Karasuno’s numbers two and three having a quiet, calm conversation. Maybe they could do with some interest in their lives.

“Heeeey, you two!” Tooru begins. He’s about to go on, when he notices something—they both _flinch_. The tall, sturdy ace seems to shrink a bit, and the short setter’s eyes go wide.

The setter is the first to speak. “Ah, hello… ?”

“Hi,” Tooru says firmly. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“Yeah, it’s been good,” the setter says.

There’s something about the way he speaks that gives Tooru the impression he’s not on full throttle. But, Tooru’s not a scary or threatening person—his mum says he’s _charming_ , and all the girls at school smile when he smiles at them. So he presses on.

“And you, Ace-kun?”

“F-fine,” he stutters out. “And—it’s Azumane.”

“Azumane,” Tooru repeats. “And—?”

“Sugawara Koushi,” the setter says, “but you can just call me Suga.”

Tooru grins. “I’m Oikawa Tooru,” he says, gesturing to himself, “and you can call me whatever you like!”

And then he feels like leaving the room, because he _actually said that out loud_. Sometimes it just happens—he flirts without thinking, like it’s second nature, and it’s too late when he realises that he’s talking to two former rivals, not two pretty girls with beauty marks near their mouths. Although, Suga has a beauty mark next to his eye, which is arguably way cuter.

But, instead of freaking out or flinching, Suga _laughs_ , and Tooru feels a bit vindicated.

“Okay, Oikawa-kun,” Suga says. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Tooru’s shoulders slump. “Sort of,” he says honestly. And, perking up a bit, he adds, “All the better for talking to you!”

“Oh, give me a second,” Suga says. “I’m going to refill my cup—I’ll leave you in Asahi’s capable hands.”

“Asahi-kun, is it?” Tooru asks as Suga ducks off.

Azumane seems to have calmed down a bit now, and he nods. “Yeah. When Daichi said you were coming I didn’t quite believe him, but…”

“Well, we’re not rivals anymore,” Tooru says. “Now seemed like as good a time as any to make peace. And between you and me, I happen to know that Sawamura-kun and Iwa-chan are going to the same university, so—”

“They are?” Suga interrupts, slipping back into the conversation with a cup full of sparkling apple juice—apparently Sawamura’s mum wasn’t keen on anything more alcoholic.

“Yeah, Tohoku,” Tooru says. “Poor Iwa-chan didn’t want to go anywhere more _prestigious_.”

“Tohoku is pretty prestigious,” Suga says, looking just a bit confronted. “Why, where are _you_ going?”

“University of Tokyo,” Tooru says. He knows he sounds like he’s gloating, but honestly he isn’t—it’s just so _exciting_ , and he can’t stop telling people. He’s already told his mum about fifty times, and she was there when he opened the acceptance letter.

Suga’s eyes light up. “Me too! That’s a real coincidence.”

“Unbelievable,” Tooru says, because he doesn’t want to come to terms with the fact that he’s going to be in close proximity to Suga’s incredible good cheer and _cute beauty mark_ for the foreseeable future.

It’s at this point that he notices Azumane has disappeared.

“What are you studying?” Suga asks.

“Sports medicine and physiotherapy,” Tooru says. After what happened to his knee, it’s only fitting that he takes a few steps purposefully in the opposite direction.

“No _way_!” Suga says. “I’m doing medicine! We’ll probably share a lot of—”

Mid-sentence, while Tooru has his guard down, Suga’s arm flies out and jabs Tooru in the side. Tooru jumps and sticks his hands out in defence, and he watches almost in slow-motion as he hits Suga’s other arm, and as the drink in Suga’s hand tips over backwards and spills down Suga’s shirt.

“Oh my god, Suga-chan,” Tooru begins, “I’m so—”

“I’m _so_ sorry!” Suga says. “Sometimes I get a bit overexcited!”

“Why are _you_ apologising?” Tooru asks. “I just spilt your drink all over you.”

Suga looks down. “I guess I should clean that up.”

As Suga weaves his way out of the crowd, Tooru follows. Sawamura’s house is generously-sized, and the bathroom Suga leads Tooru to is large and has towels hanging off every free surface.

“Hey,” Tooru says, overcome by some momentary madness, “let me help you out.”

He reaches forward and undoes the first button on Suga’s simple white shirt, his fingers getting sticky with sparkling apple juice.

“Oikawa-kun?” Suga says questioningly, tilting his head up to meet Tooru’s eyes.

“It was my fault,” Tooru says, undoing a second button.

“That’s not really an explanation,” Suga says, laughing as Tooru undoes a third. “But if this is where it’s going, then…”

Tooru knows all about people hooking up at parties, but he never really thought it would happen to him, in the bathroom of a rival captain’s house. He thinks he’s okay with it, though. Tilting his head forward, he rests his forehead against Suga’s. He almost loses his breath when Suga’s mouth curves into a smile—the kind of smile that Tooru knows could convince him a vice is a virtue.

No—he should probably resist that impulse.

“It seems so sudden,” he says, but he doesn’t move away. He’s momentarily taken leave of his senses, and he can’t do a single thing about it.

“So let’s make it good,” Suga says.

“Let’s,” Tooru says, undoing a fourth button with one hand and, lifting the other, running his fingers through Suga’s hair.

Suga stands on his toes just as Tooru bends his shoulders forward, and they hover like that, gazes locked together and mouths a breath apart.

That’s the precise moment that Tooru remembers they didn’t close the bathroom door behind them, but he decides not to do anything about it and undoes a fifth button on Suga’s shirt.

It was the wrong decision.

There’s a loud “ _What the fuck_ ” from the door and, not letting go of Suga, Tooru tilts his head to see Sawamura standing there with fury on his face.

“We didn’t close the door,” Suga says, sinking back down to his heels and resting his head on Tooru’s shoulder, shaking with laughter.

“What are you _doing_?” Sawamura demands.

“Don’t worry!” Tooru says. “Nothing happened; I just messed up his hair a little!”

“I’m going to do _so much_ worse than mess up your hair,” Sawamura says, “if you don’t get out of my bathroom _right now_!”

Against Tooru’s shoulder, Suga laughs harder, but Tooru forces himself to pull away. There’s murder in Sawamura’s eyes, and Tooru doesn’t want to stick around to find out what “so much worse” entails.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” he says again, “I’m leaving!”

Shooting Suga a sad smile, Tooru sidles out of the bathroom, Sawamura’s glare following him. Once he’s out of view, he hears Suga and Sawamura talking angrily—“Daichi, it’s none of your business who I kiss,” and “It’s my bathroom, Suga! And—Oikawa? _Really_?”

Tooru makes a beeline for Iwa-chan, still sitting on the couch with Karasuno’s former manager.

“Iwa-chan, we have to leave!”

It’s only on the way home that he realises he never got Suga’s number.

(Nothing is ever that easy, but it doesn’t matter six months later when they’re lying on the floor of Koushi’s dorm, legs tangled together and anatomy textbooks abandoned to one side in favour of more practical study.)


	8. Matsuhana + pre-wedding jitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from San: "You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you." 24/4/15

Takahiro has had his gripes with Hajime over the years, but when it comes down to it, Hajime is one of his best friends and he would be pretty lost without him. But right now, Hajime is really letting him down, because Takahiro is the one who stayed up until about two-thirty worrying, and Hajime is the one _fast asleep_  next to Takahiro in the taxi.

“You need to wake up,” Takahiro hisses, “because I can’t do this without you.”

Hajime grunts in his sleep. Takahiro decides to take the offensive, and shoves him in the shoulder.

“ _Hajime_ ,” he says a bit louder, “wake the fuck up!”

“Ugh,” Hajime says. “Touchy.”

“Stop fucking sleeping and I’ll be less touchy,” Takahiro says.

Hajime rolls his eyes, but he straightens himself up a bit. “We’re not there yet, are we?”

“Not the point,” Takahiro says. He’s trying not to sound ungrateful, but there’s still an edge to his tone. He’s thankful, though, he really is.

“Ah,” Hajime says, like he’s some sort of all-knowing oracle of wisdom. “You’re nervous.”

“Shut up,” Takahiro says. “Wouldn’t _you_  be nervous?”

“You brought it on yourself,” Hajime says. “This was all your idea.”

Takahiro folds his arms. “Sure, but Issei went along with it, and—”

“—and Oikawa’s the one who organised the whole thing,” Hajime finishes. “I’ve heard this all before, Takahiro. I heard most of it late last night, actually, when you were six sakés in and—”

“Thanks, that’s enough,” Takahiro interrupts.

“Why are you freaking out so much, anyway?” Hajime asks as the taxi rounds a sharp corner.

“We’re the first,” Takahiro says. “Most people have a few friends who do it straight out of high school, or just after, but we’re already so _old_ , and—”

“Oh my god, shut _up_ ,” Hajime says. “It’s a civil partnership at a registry office, not a goddamn wedding. All you have to do is sign a piece of paper.”

The taxi comes to a halt, and as Hajime leans over to pay, muttering “my treat,” Takahiro glances out the window and catches sight of Issei and Tooru waiting against a wall.

“I can’t do this,” Takahiro says, feeling queasy now that he’s no longer in motion.

“Yes, you can,” Hajime says. “Get out there.”

Takahiro takes a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. I can do this.”

He opens the door, and he’s about to make a graceful exit when he feels Hajime’s hand on his back, shoving him out and onto the curb. He gets to his feet quickly, though.

“Thanks for being my best man, dickhead,” Takahiro says, quickly and quietly.

“Not a problem,” Hajime says.

And, he says something else, but Takahiro catches Issei’s eye, and, okay, he’s not so nervous anymore.


	9. Ennofuta + urban fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from Ash: “That is the tenth demon summoning this week holy shit.” 3/5/15
> 
> This is my personal favourite of all the fics you'll find in this collection :)

“ _Shit_ ,” Futakuchi swears, pounding a fist into his desk as the wifi flickers off, “that is the _tenth_ demon summoning this week.”

He can tell when someone’s summoning in the building because it really screws with the magic field, which Futakuchi relies on for his free wifi, and by extent, pretty much his entire existence. He gets up and leans out the window—from the windows of the flat above his, there’s black smoke billowing and curling into a sigil that Futakuchi recognises as arcane and possibly related to necromancy, for all the good it did him to pay attention in Arcane Theory in high school. It’s the same as before, as he’d guessed: the demon summoner in flat 1812 is at it again.

“At least do your summoning in a graveyard!” he shouts, and before he has time to listen for a response, he pulls his head back in and shuts the window.

A few minutes later, and the wifi’s back up, so Futakuchi reconnects the skype call.

“Sorry about that, Moniwa,” he says, swiveling around in his chair as he sits back down.

“No worries,” Moniwa says, adjusting his webcam on the other end. “Is it the summoner in your building again?”

Futakuchi rolls his eyes. “Yeah. They just moved in last week, and I never got a good look at them, but I knew it was trouble as soon as I saw the cages full of crows.”

“ _Crows_?” Moniwa echoes, running a hand through his hair. “Do you think… they’re a _necromancer_?”

“They could be,” Futakuchi says. “If they are, it’s a bit bloody risky to be summoning in such a public place. I can see the smoke coming out of their windows, for f—”

Futakuchi’s doorbell rings. He freezes, and watches his eyes go wide in the webcam mirror in the corner of the screen.

“You alright there?” Moniwa asks.

“Yeah,” Futakuchi says. “There’s, uh, someone at my door… can I get back to you later?”

“Oh, Futakuchi,” Moniwa says. “What have you done now?”

 _I may have accidentally offended a necromancer_ , Futakuchi thinks, but he keeps it to himself as he gives Moniwa an apologetic smile and flicks off his screen. Just to be safe, he turns off the projections on his ceiling and masks a few more of his electronics that are lying around, the ones that scream Unlicensed Technomancer, even though his license is only a few weeks away from making its way out of the depths of bureaucratic hell.

The doorbell rings again.

“Coming!” Futakuchi shouts, throwing a final mask over his crate of spare computer parts. And with any luck, his visitor will think he’s just a harmless non-practitioner.

There’s a cough from the other side of the door. “Oh, n-no worries,” a voice says. “Take your time.”

And of course, that obliging manner makes Futakuchi feel awful, like every time Moniwa agrees to put their calls on hold while Futakuchi gets himself a drink, or something silly like that. So, he dashes to the door, almost tripping over a masked cord on his way.

“Hi,” he says smoothly, pulling the door open, but his next words die on his tongue when he sees his visitor.

Standing there is a short-ish guy dressed in casual, summer-y clothing, except for the black ball bearing chain around his neck with a Grade C Necromancy and Summoning License hanging off the end. It’s even mounted in a nice little plastic wallet with old-fashioned photo corners. If it’s meant to guilt Futakuchi into feeling bad for yelling at a licensed practitioner, yeah, it works, but not as well as the bouquet of colourful wildflowers the necromancer is holding.

“It was you who yelled at me about summoning in a graveyard, right?” he asks.

“Um,” Futakuchi manages.

The necromancer holds out his license. “I’m only on a Grade C license, so I’m not allowed to work unsupervised with actual corpses yet. For some reason, though, demons are fine. I know it messes with the local magic field, but—”

“No, that’s alright,” Futakuchi stutters. “It’s not like I’m constantly, uh, connected to it, or anything… ? I mean, what kind of a practitioner would… do that…”

“Ah,” the necromancer says, covering his mouth with his free hand to stop a laugh. “Oh, by the way—I should introduce myself before I give you flowers. I’m Ennoshita Chikara, flat 1812.”

“Futakuchi Kenji, flat 1712.”

“I know,” Ennoshita says. “I just rang your doorbell.”

“Okay,” Futakuchi says, trying to act like he’s totally chill and not freaking out about a handsome necromancer offering him flowers, “do you, uh, want to come in for a drink or something?”

“Sure,” Ennoshita says, and Futakuchi steps aside for him, carefully directing him towards the kitchen via the path with the fewest cords on the ground.

“I wanted to apologise,” Ennoshita says. “Most practitioners aren’t really keen on having the field disrupted so regularly, but I was assured very few practitioners lived in this building, and if they did, they wouldn’t be using the field so regularly that I’d disrupt it with my summoning.”

Futakuchi distracts himself by opening a cupboard and pulling out some cups. “Well, I mean, I’m not a practitioner, so—”

“So that’s why your whole flat reeks of masked magic?” Ennoshita asks.

Futakuchi doesn’t have a response for that. “Guava or mango?”

“Juice? That’s a bit fancy.”

“Well?”

“Guava,” Ennoshita says, after a pause. “And a vase of water for these flowers.”

“I—I can’t accept those,” Futakuchi says. “Sorry for yelling at you. Of course, you’re legally free to summon wherever you want…”

He trails off, thinking about how he just invited a handsome and _perceptive_ necromancer into his flat, and how he’s _so_ busted.

“You can stop pretending,” Ennoshita says. “I’m not going to report you for being unlicensed, if that’s what you’re worried about. Shall I remove the masks for you and find out, or will you?”

Futakuchi is vaguely aware that his mouth is hanging open. “It’s not so illegal,” he explains. “I’m training for my Grade C, only my mentor moved to Kyoto for work, so there are all sorts of extra forms to fill out for long-distance mentoring, and—”

“So, you’ve got a Grade E, and all you’re doing is casting above your level?” Ennoshita asks.

“I’m on probation,” Futakuchi mutters, turning his back to Ennoshita as he fills the cups with guava juice. Then, he grabs a thermos from the cupboard and runs the tap to fill it with water.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Ennoshita says, standing way too close to Futakuchi, even for a tiny kitchen, as he takes his glass of juice.

Futakuchi decides to switch tactics. “It was kind of a big deal,” he says. “I got put on probation after challenging some Grade B technomancers to a bit of a contest when I was still on my Grade E. One of them offered to mentor me straight to a Grade C, though.”

Ennoshita hums. “You know, it only seems cool if you won.”

“Well, I didn’t come last,” Futakuchi says, taking the flowers from Ennoshita and sticking them in the thermos.

“Impressive,” Ennoshita says, although he doesn’t sound impressed by it at all, and even less by the use of a thermos in lieu of a vase. Whatever—Futakuchi can’t afford those sort of furnishings, and anyway, he never anticipated ever having flowers in his house.

There’s something off about the flowers, though, and Futakuchi vaguely picks up some traces of magic. “Did you summon these?” he asks.

“I grow them on my balcony,” Ennoshita says. “I did summon the seeds, though.”

“You need a hobby,” Futakuchi says.

There’s an awkward silence after that—Ennoshita doesn’t respond, just keeps standing too close and takes a sip of his juice, looking at Futakuchi over the rim of his cup with half-closed eyes.

“Well,” Ennoshita says eventually, “a necromancer living above a technomancer. This isn’t exactly ideal.”

“It’s really messing with the wifi,” Futakuchi says.

“Then, let me make it up to you, at least,” Ennoshita says.

Futakuchi blinks. Embarrassingly, his brain supplies a few creative ways that Ennoshita can make it up to him, and he hopes like hell he’s not blushing. He decides to go with the least likely to get him punched.

“You can take me out for dinner,” Futakuchi says, at the same time as Ennoshita says “I can show you some arcane techniques to keep your wifi stable. ”

“Oh,” Ennoshita says, as Futakuchi says “Wait—”

They stare at each other for an excruciating few seconds.

“You first,” Ennoshita says, looking away with a sort of confused smile on his face. It’s stupidly endearing.

“I didn’t know arcanists dabbled in technomancy,” Futakuchi says, pushing the thought of a dinner date to one side in favour of his curiosity.

“You’re not the only one breaking the law around here,” Ennoshita says, meeting Futakuchi’s eyes again.

Futakuchi becomes acutely aware that he’s passed the point of no return with this unconventional but no less stunning necromancer who is _still_ standing too close to him and who apparently can make Futakuchi’s flat seem ten times as warm, even without the sound of buzzing electronics in the background.

Ennoshita clears his throat and looks around a bit, as though he’s taking stock of the kitchen, before speaking again: “And I suppose I can take you out for dinner, too.”


	10. Aone + 2am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from San. 3/5/15

Aone’s alarm goes off, playing Grieg’s _Morning Mood_ , which Futakuchi set as a joke in first year. Aone’s never had the heart to tell him that he’s actually very fond of the music. He sits up, rubbing his eyes and blinking, adjusting to the— _darkness_?

He checks his clock, and it reads 02:00, glowing red. He was sure he’d set it for five, early enough that he’d make it to the gym for six. But now it’s two in the morning. and he’s wide awake—like he always is when his alarm goes off, without fail. He sits up, rubbing his eyes, letting them adjust to the darkness. It’s oddly silent, and Aone feels at a loss for what to do.

He lies in bed for a bit, rolling onto his side and picking up his phone from the bedside table. It is definitely two in the morning, and there are two texts from Futakuchi sitting on his phone: _omg!! why am i still awake_ and _shit lol sorry aone wrong number_ ☆☆☆.

Aone writes out a quick reply: _i woke up too… lol_.

For a few minutes, he plays some rhythm games waiting for a reply. There isn’t one, so he hits another dead end. He tries to fall asleep again, lying on his back and closing his eyes, but it’s like he’d already become too accustomed to the darkness, and he can’t sleep like this.

So, he gets out of bed. He went to bed at ten, so it’s not like he hasn’t slept that much. The gym doesn’t open until six, but there’s nothing stopping him from going for a run. He pulls his feet out from under the covers quickly, like ripping off a plaster, and dashes almost daintily on his toes to his slippers at the foot of the bed.

When he opens his bedroom door, it creaks a bit, and Aone nearly jumps. The house is so quiet, and his family are almost certainly fast asleep, so Aone decides to minimise his movement as much as possible. He retreats back into his room and gets changed into his sports gear, and packs his gym bag just for something to do. Then, he heads to the kitchen to eat breakfast, even though his body is screaming at him not to eat at two in the morning.

It’s too late to go back to sleep now, though.

His gym shoes are by the door, and he tries to put them on quietly, without squeaking. Closing the door isn’t so easy, though—it slams behind him, hit by a gust of wind, and Aone winces. He stands outside the door for a few moments, glancing up to check and double-check that no lights turn on, that no-one heard the noise. There’s nothing, though, so he stretches, and then runs.

There’s something kind of calming about being out at night, though. The streets are completely empty, and the sky is dark but glowing just enough that Aone can see where he’s going when the streetlights are out.

He takes his usual route, because there’s no point in exploring in the dark, and runs it in half the time he usually does, because there’s no need to pay attention to the traffic lights when there’s no-one around. The closest he comes to any signs of life is a cat that nearly startles him to a scream, appearing from some bushes without any warning.

And when he gets home… well, it’s still dark, and everyone is still asleep, and it’s no different to before. That, in itself, relaxes him a bit.

He heads back up to catch a shower before he goes to the gym, and stops in his room on the way to check his phone.

It’s almost half-past-three, and there’s a text from Futakuchi: _it’s been hard since spring high, huh?_

Yeah, Aone thinks, it has. But there’s still next year, and all the two in the mornings until then, and Aone has time enough to get ready.


	11. Ennofuta + confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from San. 29/7/15

Kenji swallows, wiping his palms on his jeans, just in case they’re sweating—they’re not, it’s fine, he’s _fine_. He’s been getting worse lately, losing himself around Ennoshita, blushing and not meeting his eye, talking too much about himself to make up for the fact that he just wants to stare at Ennoshita for hours on end.

The sheet lifts and Ennoshita climbs back under, balancing a bowl of crisps in the crook of his arm. “Sustenance,” he explains. “If we’re planning on a late night.”

“Should I queue up another movie?” Kenji asks.

“If you want,” Ennoshita says. “Or we could just lie here and listen to the rain.”

And sometimes, Ennoshita says things like that, stupidly romantic things which Kenji is certain he’s just lifted from some film or other. Kenji doesn’t know where he stands, doesn’t know how to ask Ennoshita what they are, what they’re _meant_ to be.

“Yeah,” Kenji says. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

The couch cushions making up their fort threaten to topple as Ennoshita shifts to move the cushion near the window aside. It doesn’t let in much more light, but the raindrops on the windowsill are louder, and Kenji doesn’t mind the view.

Ennoshita glances around the fort. “It looks different in the rain.”

If Ennoshita sees it differently—then, how is it that what he sees is always so distinct, so unique? How could Kenji even hope to see things the same way—or, how could he concentrate on anything else when Ennoshita’s there?

Ennoshita picks up on the mood—of _course_ he does, he reads people like books and reassures them with a smile that he knows what he’s doing. For Kenji, he reaches out a hand, slides it out beside him and threads his fingers through Kenji’s, as if to say, _I understand_. Kenji closes his eyes, his skin burning at the touch.

For a moment there’s nothing but the sound of the rain.

“I like you, you know,” Ennoshita says, so quietly that it’s barely audible above the rhythmic drumming on the window pane.

_I know now_ , Kenji thinks, and closure is one thing, but closure that leads to new openings—that’s something else, something more exciting than any of the movies on Kenji’s laptop. He wonders how his heart can beat so fast when he’s lying so still.

“Say something,” Ennoshita says, and, is that _desperation_? Does he want to hear it too? Does he really expect Kenji to put words to a feeling he’s never experienced before?

Instead, Kenji tightens his hand around Ennoshita’s.

“I like you too,” he says, and even if that word doesn’t feel right, almost doesn’t feel _strong_ enough, doesn’t feel wild enough for the somersaults in his chest, it’s worth it for the way Ennoshita’s face lights up.

And for now, it’s _perfect_.


	12. Ennofuta + caught in the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an anonymous prompt on tumblr. 26/9/15

“Coming?” Tanaka asks, pulling his jacket up over his head as a makeshift hood. Everyone else is already halfway to the bus, sprinting through the pouring rain—rain to match a mood, rain for a loss, for a team dejected that this wasn’t their time.

The problem is, Ennoshita’s always loved the rain.

“In a bit,” he says.

Out the other door of the gym, Datekou are leaving, all of them with umbrellas or raincoats. Now there’s a team who come prepared. A _winning_ team.

Ennoshita takes a deep breath and sprints out to catch up with them. Within seconds he’s soaked through, and his fringe is in his eyes, so he nearly misses it when Futakuchi turns and ducks out from under the umbrella he’s sharing with Aone and breaks into a run to meet Ennoshita in the middle.

And when they meet, Futakuchi catches Ennoshita in a hug and sweeps him off his feet—they spin for a few dizzying moments before Ennoshita lands and, standing on his toes so that he doesn’t slip on the wet ground, tangles his wet fingers in Futakuchi’s wet hair and launches himself upwards for a kiss. It tastes of rain and early mornings in Tokyo, the calm nervousness before a big match.

“I have to go back,” Ennoshita says. “But, congratulations.”

“You played well too,” Futakuchi says, “if that’s any consolation—”

Ennoshita relaxes back onto his heels, into a smile. “Thanks,” he says, “but this is my second place trophy.”

The rain falls harder as, this time, Futakuchi bends down for the kiss.


	13. Ennoshita + what the future holds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a five minutes of writing & no edits challenge. 4/11/15

In just the briefest of pauses between serving and receiving, Ennoshita finds the time to make his way out of the gym and into the cool spring air. It’s raining, just a bit, enough that the skies are clouded over with fog, making the buildings at the far end of the school look almost mystical. And the smell of the crisp wind is calming like nothing else, so he pauses, breathes in.

When he breathes, Daichi is there beside him, breaking the atmosphere.

“Daichi-san—”

“I don’t want to talk for long,” Daichi says, folding his arms. “Just to pass the baton.”

Ennoshita breathes in again. This is not a conversation he’s ready to have, not yet.

“It’s our last practice today, you know,” Daichi says.

“I know,” Ennoshita says quietly.

“So, this time tomorrow…”

Daichi trails off, letting the rest of his sentence fall with the rain.

“This time tomorrow,” Ennoshita repeats. He feels stupid, like all he can do is parrot Daichi’s words, because that’s all he’ll be doing, stepping into Daichi’s shoes as nothing but a carbon copy, a ghost in the fog of the captain Karasuno has now—soon, won’t have anymore.

“I don’t want to give you a pep talk,” Daichi says, “because I know you’re ready. Just promise me one thing.”

Ennoshita doesn’t respond, lets him go about it in his own time.

“Next year,” Daichi says. “You don’t need to take Karasuno to nationals. You don’t need to be the perfect captain, the perfect wing spiker. Just—just make sure you’re happy, okay?”

“Yeah,” Ennoshita says, watching the rain. “Yeah.”


	14. Kyouyaha + differences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an anonymous prompt on tumblr. 23/11/15

Kyoutani isn’t a patient person. The problem is, Yahaba _is_. He likes to think of himself as the very picture of restraint and temperance, a saint among men who walks with his nose held in the air just in case he smells someone else’s shit—because of course, his own smells of roses and perfume, he can do no wrong. And he holds out, doesn’t do anything unless it’ll come right for him, at the right time and in the right place.

Kyoutani is all awkward pacing and incorrect placing, but that’s probably why he and Yahaba are so attracted to each other. At least, Kyoutani _assumes_ it’s mutual. There’s a great deal of purposeful glancing between them. Yahaba likes to show off his patience, his restraint—Kyoutani doesn’t give a shit.

There’s no _right_ time to start something. It isn’t in the middle of practice, or in the locker rooms after, but as they walked to the station together, arms very deliberately _not_ touching because Yahaba would _never_ do _anything_ like that. Kyoutani would. He stops, takes Yahaba by the shoulders, pulls him close and shoves their mouths together—and if he has to stand on his toes, well, no-one has to know.

Yahaba is all style and finesse, and tries to put his lips where they’re probably meant to go. Kyoutani is none of that—he’s messy and fast and he doesn’t mind getting dirty. They even _kiss_ differently. Kyoutani is almost convinced they’re completely incompatible—and he’s convinced that it’s exactly why it feels so good, why they work so well.


	15. Oisuga + enchanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from SWAG2016. Enchanted, as in the song. Date unknown.

(who are you?)

tooru’s never seen anyone so enchanting, no-one who lights up his world the way this _stranger_ does. another night, another house party, another drink in his hand that he won’t drink, that’s just there for show, that he won’t drink, that’ll end up in the potted plant and _why_ does everyone feel the need to have so many indoor plants when you know they don’t take care of them, it’s so superficial.

_he_ isn’t superficial, the stranger. he’s like a beacon of hope in the messy world of socialites and successful youth which tooru hates and wishes he could escape, if only for a night, but this stranger, he’s something _new_ , and tooru loves it, it sets him alight, this feeling.

he tries to move closer, to talk to the stranger, but suddenly someone—a face with a name he doesn’t remember—pulls on his arm, drags him away, and tooru is captured, but no less captivated.

(why are you here?)

as he’s stuck in conversation after conversation, he starts making up stories about the stranger. he calls him sawayaka, for his refreshing nature, emphasises it like a name. he decides sawayaka is from the countryside, like him, but that moving to the city was more of a shock for sawayaka than it was for tooru. sawayaka was shy for a while, out of his element, but when he made friends, started to move in more circles, he began to shine.

tooru thinks about going up to sawayaka a few times, but in the end, he can’t do it. sawayaka is too beautiful, too ethereal, something too special to be spoiled by conversation, petty questions like _how was your day_ and _where are you from_ , when all tooru wants to ask is, _i love you, please give me even a moment of your time_.

in the end, he goes home, and tries to forget all about sawayaka, tries to convince himself that sawayaka was a ghost, a phantom of his imagination and yearning for something beyond all this. it doesn’t work.

(who loves you?)

for weeks, tooru wonders about sawayaka. he’s always on his mind, whenever tooru’s at work or with his volleyball team or even at another party, passing through the room like a spectre, flashing in and out of existence whenever his mind is drawn to think of sawayaka, and only sawayaka, never anyone else.

he imagines sawayaka is dating someone, living with someone, married. sawayaka goes home happy, loved, surrounded by happiness and friendliness and _warmth_ and even though he’s just making it up, it draws tooru in, and he feels _jealous_.

so, he tries again not to think of sawayaka, but that beautiful face and bright smile haunt his dreams and colour his days, painting his sunsets silver and grey and so _resplendent_ , that tooru thinks he might get drawn into this fantasy for good, and forget about work and volleyball and parties, just devote himself entirely to a concept, a memory, something sacred and untainted by the brush of anger and ignorance and human devilry.

(who do you love?)

it’s at another party, a month later, when tooru feels a presence by his side—someone shorter, lighter, barely there—and a second later when he registers that it’s sawayaka, his love, his ghost, his beautiful memory. “have we met?” sawayaka asks, and tooru’s heart stops, can’t respond for so many moments.

“i think i’ve seen you around before,” is what he settles on, and sawayaka beams at him like it’s exactly the right answer, like it’s the _truth_ , and not just true because it’s what happened, but because it’s _meant_ to be, and tooru’s never been one to believe in destiny or soulmates or even love at first sight, but he believes in the way sawayaka—sugawara koushi, suga, he learns—is looking at him, quizzically, curious, fascinated, _enchanted_ , the way tooru feels.

this time, they talk the entire night, an island of sanity amidst a façade of superciliousness, floating freely and drawn to each other in a perfect orbit. this time, when tooru leaves the party, he leaves with no regrets, and with a phone number written on his hand, and a promise.

(when will i see you again?)

(soon.)


	16. Kurodai + med student AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from SWAG2016. Date unknown.
> 
> Warnings: referenced sexual content

The average medial degree is seven years. Seven years. Daichi’s not even sure he’s going to make it through his seven month internship.

It started innocently enough, with his supervising academic asking, “How would you like to do your placement in Tokyo?”

Daichi’s no fool. He knew Tokyo hospitals would be bigger and busier than anything he’d ever experienced, and that he’d be under unbelievable pressure. But he also knew he was one of the top students in his grade, and that opportunities like this only came once in a lifetime. So, he said yes.

Now, he knows it was a mistake.

It’s not the busyness that gets to Daichi, it’s not the stress, not even the weight of expectation. It’s Kuroo Tetsurou.

Kuroo is everything that intimidates Daichi—he’s from the city, he’s tall, he’s cunning, he’s got a real attitude on him—but Daichi can’t run away from a challenge, so he rises to it instead, and he and Kuroo spend all their time baiting each other, throwing snide remarks—

—then, they start doing a little more than that.

It begins during a surgery. They’re posted together—more often than not, they’re posted together, and Daichi can’t tell whether it’s a blessing or a curse—and their supervising surgeon decides to let Daichi take the lead in the operation as he takes a break. It’s a routine surgery, but a real marathon, so Daichi definitely understands the need to pause.

“Steady hands, huh,” Kuroo says.

The patient’s under general, so Daichi knows they can’t hear, but he keeps his voice down anyway when he replies. “I don’t see how I’d be studying surgery if I didn’t have steady hands.”

“Sure,” Kuroo says, “I’m just pointing it out.”

“Well, focus,” Daichi snaps.

Kuroo lasts about ten seconds before opening his big mouth again. “You know, you have really nice fingers.”

Daichi jolts upwards, and he glares at Kuroo. “What?”

“Not too long, not too short,” Kuroo continues. “Good length.”

“Why are you so fixated on my fingers?” Daichi asks.

“Because you’re a surgeon,” Kuroo says, “and I’m a surgeon. You know, I’m just saying—”

He pauses, leaning in closer across the patient.

“—I bet you could do a lot with those fingers.”

Soon after that, their supervising surgeon comes back in, and they back away from each other—but the moment they’re done and washed, out of their scrubs, Daichi drags Kuroo into one of the shower stalls in the surgeons’ locker room and shows him just what his fingers are capable of doing.

After that, it doesn’t stop—much to Daichi’s dismay. It keeps happening.

Usually it’s after a surgery, when they’re both breathless and worked up, but sometimes it happens late at night, when Daichi’s working in his dorm just near the hospital and gets a text from Kuroo—hands-on anatomy study?—and can’t say no. Twice, it happens in the lunch room, with Kuroo slipping lower in his seat and sliding his foot up Daichi’s thigh, so covert that Daichi doesn’t notice until it’s too late.

Frankly, it’s becoming a problem, and Daichi didn’t get where he is by giving in to pesky problems like Kuroo Tetsurou.

So, one night when Kuroo texts, Daichi obliges and goes to Kuroo’s room with only one thing on his mind.

“Listen,” he says, standing at the door, “I think we should stop doing this.”

“Doing what?” Kuroo asks, resting a hand on Daichi’s hip.

Daichi shakes him off. “This. The sex, Kuroo. It’s getting in the way of both our studies, and as medical students doing internships at a top hospital, we should be more focuse—”

Kuroo cuts him off, running a finger along Daichi’s jawline. He hums. “Or, we could recognise that working too hard leads to excess stress. C'mon, Sawamura, you’ve gotta find a balance.”

“I don’t know if this is the right balance,” Daichi admits.

Frowning, Kuroo steps back a bit. “If you don’t want to see me anymore, that’s fine,” he says. “I respect that. You know I feel strongly for you, but I understand if you want to put your studies first.”

“Kuroo—”

“But since you came all this way,” Kuroo adds, grinning.

And that’s it—Daichi’s enchanted all over again, and he grins back. “Since I came all this way…”

“Why don’t you come inside?” Kuroo asks.

Daichi obliges.

It keeps happening, the two of them sneaking any moment that they can. But after that night, they find a name for it—dating.


	17. Ukatake + getting together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from SWAG2016. Date unknown.
> 
> Warnings: alcohol

Keishin is used to getting up early—four in the morning for the fava beans, five for volleyball, six to mind the store—but not so used to staying up late. The nights are shorter in the summer, brighter when he walks back to the store after a late night coaching, glaring when he gets up the next morning.

It strikes him, late one night, that it’s been six years. Six years since he started coaching, three years since any of the students he remembers as _his_ team have come and gone. Six years since he met Takeda.

“Hey,” he says, tilting his head back off the edge of his couch where he’s lying, “six years.”

Takeda looks up from his chair at the other end of the room. His face is a little red from drinking, but his speech isn’t slurred when he replies, “Six years, huh?”

This is their ritual: after practice, Takeda will swing by Keishin’s flat with homework to grade and a six-pack of beer from the store, Keishin will make dinner, Takeda will stay as late as it takes to finish his marking. Usually Keishin falls asleep before he’s done, wakes to a note on the dining table. Tonight, though, Keishin is awake and startled, confronted as he realises just how _long_ they’ve been doing this for.

“Yeah,” he says. “I can’t imagine breaking this pattern. Like, if you got a job at another school. You’d still have to come over, you know?”

“You’re a creature of habit,” Tadeka says. “Hard to sway, hard to get off course—believe me, I know.”

Flushed with embarrassment, Keishin pulls himself so he’s sitting up, cross-legged at one end of the couch.

“I’m not planning on getting another job,” Takeda continues. “I love it at Karasuno, even if I might never be made a head teacher.”

“Well, that’s bullshit,” Keishin says. “You work hard enough—”

“—and we’ve been through this,” Takeda interrupts. “We can have the conversation again in,"—he checks his watch,—"one month.”

Despite himself, Keishin snorts. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Do you really worry that much about it?” Takeda asks.

Keishin hums, dangling an arm off the edge of the couch. “I guess? It’s one of those things you never think about, but we’ve just… always done this. It’s not something I want to lose.”

He feels stupid for being sappy about it, but it’s nearly one in the morning, and he’s pretty sure that this time of day was designed for excessive displays of emotion that are forgotten by the time the sun rises again.

“Nor do I,” Takeda says. “Our friendship means a lot to me.”

For some reason, the word _friendship_ stings a little, and it’s a split second before Keishin realises— _oh_ , of _course_. “Do you know what sort of people spend six years of their lives together?” he asks.

Takeda smiles softly. “Best friends,” he says. “In his last email, Yamaguchi-kun told me that he and Tsukishima-kun are living together now, and that Hinata-kun and Kageyama-kun are still playing on the same team. It’s been six years for them too.”

Keishin shifts, and Takeda puts down his papers and picks up a beer, moves to join him on the couch. Taking a deep breath, still looking away, Keishin says, “I wasn’t really talking about friendship.”

“I’m happy to talk about _that_ too,” Takdea says. He rests his beer on the floor by the edge of the couch and tucks his feet underneath him.

“Yeah?” Keishin asks. “I mean, okay—it’s been six years of this. I know I always stick to routine, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to try something new.”

“If this could even be counted as _new_ ,” Takeda says, and he lifts himself up so he’s kneeling, facing Keishin. “Do you want me to say it?”

“You can say it,” Keishin agrees, almost nervously.

Takeda doesn’t say anything, just moves to unbutton his shirt—Keishin’s about to stop him from moving so fast, but then he works out what Takeda’s doing.

“It’s a cute tradition,” Takeda says. “Every graduation day, so many gakurans are damaged in the name of love. I never confessed to anyone in high school—I was too shy—and by the time I was at university, you weren’t supposed to confess like that at all. I feel like I missed out on it.”

He pulls the button from his shirt and holds it out to Keishin. Instead of taking it right away, Keishin closes both of his hands around Takeda’s, which feels so small in comparison. He tries very hard not to look at the gap in Takeda’s shirt and the little bit of skin showing through, and looks him dead in the eye instead.

“Here’s to six years.”

Takeda grins. “Here’s to six more.”


	18. Ushimoni + leadership

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from SWAG2016: “Leadership is a matter of having people look at you and gain confidence. He takes a little more than his share of the blame, and a littles less than his share of the credit.” Date unknown.

after they lose to karasuno, some words of comfort? no, nothing for his team—they don’t need his strength here, off court. it’s for oohira to put an arm around someone’s shoulder, for tendou to slap someone on the back and tell them it’ll be okay, they have next year—

nothing for his team, from the captain who could lead them to victory, and to defeat, after so long.

-

so, then, what makes a good captain?

-

"ushijima-san!"—still, after so many weeks, he’s using the suffix—"over here!”

when moniwa tosses, it’s not about precision, nor about power. it’s not about utilising every player on the team to their utmost capability, and it’s certainly not showing off. it takes ushijima a while to work out what it is.

moniwa calls for the toss, and ushijima is there. he brings his hand up, spikes across the court, straight past the block, right where he intended it to go. when he lands back on his feet, he never needs time to readjust. it’s right back to business. after a while, moniwa seemed to work out that he didn’t do high-fives—too much power, too many bad experiences of watching someone walk away with stinging fingers and red palms—so now moniwa comes to him, if he’s close enough, puts a hand on ushijima’s arm and squeezes, smiles in thanks.

it’s trust. trust in every one of his tosses, that it’ll reach his spiker’s palm, that his spiker will use it as best they can. trust that he’s thrown it well enough. ushijima has definitely worked with better setters, but he’s never stood beside anyone else who’s made his heart beat twice as fast just by _being_ there.

-

it’s confusing, for a while.

they reach the next stage of the inter-university competition, and ushijima thinks, why _him_? even though oikawa had gone to another university, at least this one should’ve aimed to put a setter of his calibre on the junior team. but they didn’t. they gave him moniwa.

it’s confusing because moniwa isn’t as strong or tall as the rest of them, can’t run as fast. it’s _most_ confusing because it _works_.

after practice, moniwa always waits for him. “ushijima-san, are you coming out with us tonight?”

“i have to study,” ushijima tells him. he can’t spend his entire life with his volleyball team, after all.

moniwa looks downcast. “oh,” he says. “well, maybe tomorrow!”

“tomorrow,” ushijima agrees, nodding.

it’s confusing how just one word can make moniwa smile so brightly.

-

they fall together easily—"so much time spent around just one person isn’t good for you, wakatoshi-kun,“ tendou says, but ushijima discards it as bad advice. they practice together, then study together. they walk home together, then _stay_ together.

it isn’t something ushijima has ever done before, but he doesn’t mind it.

they wake up early, set their alarms together, meet outside the gym, run together. moniwa can’t keep pace, but ushijima always waits for him at the end.

"the second years are leaving soon,” moniwa says, short of breath, once he’s caught up. “moving up to the senior team.”

ushijima stands up from the bench he’s been sitting on. “are you worried about who we’ll be stuck with next year?”

moniwa laughs, brushing his hair from his face. “i’m thinking about who’ll be made captain.”

for ushijima, the answer is obvious. “the strongest player is chosen as the captain.”

“well, good luck to him,” moniwa says. “i don’t intend to stop fighting.”

-

what, then, from the captain who has lost?

for each of the spikers, an apology; for the blockers, encouragement; for the libero, a hand to ruffle his hair. for the team, words of confidence:

“this is just the first game of the season,” he says, “and remember, this is nothing like high school volleyball. here, you’ll get to play many more matches against more teams than you can imagine.”

(for ushijima, a reassuring touch—a promise, the whispered word _later_ —a kiss, eventually.)

“any words from the vice captain?”

ushijima blinks down at moniwa, who gives him an encouraging smile, and looks back at the team. “you played well,” he says.

-

in their third year of university, moniwa decides that he no longer has time for volleyball. before he leaves the team, he makes ushijima swear to him—

—"swear to me, wakatoshi, that you’ll be the best captain they’ve ever had.“

-

and what is there for the captain who has won? what sympathy for the defeated?

-

"i swear,” ushijima says.


	19. Levyaku + language barrier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from SWAG2016. Date unknown.

Lev sounds out the syllables. _Bookstore_. It’s a word he knows, because his teacher was adamant that he buy a Japanese dictionary at a _bookstore_ , so that he can understand a little more of what’s going on in class. He’s not a bad student! He used to get _great_ marks back in Russia—he just needs time to prove himself, and, well, the language to prove himself in.

He pushes open the store and a bell jangles to signify his entry. It’s a small, neighbourhood store with only a few aisles, and it would probably be the sort of place that’s incredibly easy to navigate, if any of the signs were in Russian. Lev squints at the sign on the first aisle. He makes out a negative, so he gathers it’s _non-fiction_. Dictionaries are non-fiction, right? Unless there’s a separate section for reference. Still, he can’t read any of the other signs, so he makes for the non-fiction aisle.

If someone were to ask Lev whether he had any flaws, there are very few things he would list—he’s tall, an _ace_ volleyball player (eventually), and a really friendly guy. Perhaps his biggest issue is that he never looks where he’s going. So, it shouldn’t be a surprise that he walks down the non-fiction aisle and straight into someone very short, _unbelievably_ short, so short that Lev lets out a gasp.

“You’re tiny!” he says in Russian.

The tiny man says something in Japanese, and Lev is pretty sure at least one of those words is a _bad_ word that the delinquent in his class says every second sentence. Now, the tiny man is glaring up at Lev, so to ease the tension Lev spreads out his palms in what he hopes is a universal gesture of apology, and says one of the only phrases he knows in Japanese: “Sorry, I don’t speak much Japanese!”

“Okay,” the tiny man says, and then he keeps talking, but Lev catches maybe one or two words, and reconstructs the meaning from that, something like, “Watch where you’re going next time.”

“I will be very careful!” Lev says. He knows his Japanese is broken at best, but he hopes the tiny man understands. Actually, the tiny man appears to work there, because he’s wearing a nametag with a character on it that Lev doesn’t know. “Dictionary?” he asks hopefully.

“Dictionary,” the shopkeeper repeats—his accent is so much better—and turns around, walking around the other end of the aisle.

Lev follows eagerly, practically bouncing on his heels. “In Russian,” he says. “Do you have that?”

The shopkeeper nods. He stops in front of a shelf of dictionaries—now that Lev sees them, he knows exactly what he should’ve been looking out for—and easily locates the one with both Japanese and Russian on the spine. He reaches for it, but the shopkeeper shakes his head. “That’s Russian to Japanese,” he says. “You want Japanese to Russian.”

“Yes!” Lev says. “Thank you!”

Straining, the shopkeeper reaches for a dictionary—when it becomes obvious he’s too short, though, Lev reaches out before he can get a stool and pulls the dictionary off the shelf. Glancing back at the shopkeeper’s nametag, he quickly searches for the kanji section of the dictionary, and flips through a few pages.

The shopkeeper asks something like, “What are you looking for?”

Lev pokes a finger at the shopkeeper’s chest. “Your name!”

For a moment, the shopkeeper doesn’t respond, just shuts his eyes. When he opens them again, he fixes Lev with a glare, and says something that Lev only _just_ understands. “It says _staff_ ,” he says. “My name is Yaku.”

“Yaku-san, thank you!” Lev says, shutting the dictionary. “I will buy this.”

He follows Yaku to the counter, clutching the dictionary maybe a bit too tightly, but he’s just so _excited_! He’s ready to learn so much, and he’ll come back in next week and the week after and show off to Yaku just how good his Japanese will be. After all, he still hasn’t apologised properly!

Once Yaku’s rung up the dictionary and Lev’s paid, Lev rifles through a few pages until he finds what he’s looking for. And, on his way out, he says, “See you soon, Yaku-san!”

Yaku’s jaw drops. “Again?”

As Lev leaves the bookstore, he finds himself grinning for reasons he can’t entirely pinpoint. “Again.”


	20. Monifuta + graduation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from SWAG2016. Date unknown.

_Nervous_ is not supposed to be a word in Futakuchi’s vocabulary. It’s something that happens to other people. He _definitely_ doesn’t get nervous to the point that he’s apparently—

“—radiating anxiety,” Obara decides. “I’ve never seen him so on-edge.”

“What do you think is on his mind?” Onagawa asks in a stage-whisper.

“You know what it is,” Obara says. Futakuchi can practically hear him nodding sagely. “It’s _graduation_.”

Futakuchi keeps his head down, focused on the textbook in front of him. The three of them and Aone have taken their free period to study for finals, since they won’t have any time in the afternoon once the graduation ceremony kicks off. It’s not that it’s _graduation_ , anyway, since it’s not Futakuchi graduating, so it would be stupid for him to be nervous about that, of course he isn’t. Beside him, Aone flips a page in his textbook, and Futakuchi glances at him from the corner of his eye. At least _Aone_ isn’t picking on him.

“Right, right,” Onagawa says. “And he’ll miss the third years so much.”

“I don’t know how he’ll cope without Moniwa around to advise him as captain,” Obara says, “or without Kamasaki to bully him.”

“The team will never be the same again,” Onagawa agrees.

That’s what gets Futakuchi to lose his cool. “It’s _not_ that,” he snaps, looking up from his textbook.

“But you admit there’s _something_ bothering you,” Onagawa says.

Futakuchi has to think fast, because he knows he’s been caught out, and if he doesn’t handle it with grace they’ll know he’s sort of losing his touch, which has _nothing_ to do with anything, for that matter. “Yeah, just something I’ve been contemplating for a while,” he says. “You know, the kind of decision where it’s like, should I, shouldn’t I…”

“Like whether or not you should buy the jumbo pack of sour gummies, whether you can eat them all before they start to go stale, that sort of thing,” Onagawa says. “I get it.”

“Not that, idiot,” Futakuchi says, reaching across the table to flick Onagawa in the forehead. “Stuff like, _life_ decisions.”

“Should we be worried?” Obara asks.

_No_ , Futakuchi thinks, _because there’s no way I’ll ever follow through_.

“No,” he says, “it’s nothing.”

“An unimportant life decision, huh,” Onagawa muses. “Sounds to me like you’re a _big fucking liar_ , Futakuchi, spit it out!”

Futakuchi stays resolutely silent. There’s no way.

“Okay,” Onagawa says, “let’s guess.”

“It’s a present for your mum,” Obara says, “that costs more than you can afford.”

Futakuchi glares at him.

“No?” Onagawa says. “Then it’s a schoolwork thing. You’re failing… hmm, Japanese lit?”

“I’m an honour roll student, dipshit,” Futakuchi says. “Anyway, didn’t your parents teach you not to talk down to your captain?”

“What if it’s a girl?” Obara says suddenly, and Futakuchi is a little bit grateful for the distraction from Onagawa, but mostly _anguished_ because Obara has no idea how close he is.

At least Futakuchi can say with confidence, “It’s got nothing to do with a girl.”

“You’re bullshitting,” Onagawa says immediately. “Also, blushing. So you like someone.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Obara says. He probably thinks he’s being reassuring. He’s not.

“Aha!” Onagawa exclaims. “She’s a third year!”

Futakuchi is so screwed. So screwed.

“I guess he’s moping since it’s graduation,” Onagawa finishes.

“You should give her your second button!” Obara says. “Don’t waste this opportunity!”

“It’s not that simple,” Futakuchi says, giving up. He’ll let them follow that thread until they get bored.

“I guess she doesn’t know you exist, then,” Onagawa says.

“Nothing like that,” Futakuchi says. “It’s just. We’re not friends in that way.”

He’s surprised, then, to hear Aone clearing his throat quietly. “You shouldn’t hesitate,” he says, “if it’s something you really want.”

And, that’s what does it—the last two years hit Futakuchi like a flood, from the moment he signed up to the volleyball club and the soft-spoken second year setter treated him and the other first years to dinner after practice, to just after Inter High, when Moniwa had pulled him aside with the number 2 shirt scrunched in his hands, with a request and a _promise_ —and Futakuchi thinks about the team he’s been tasked to lead and all the inadequacy he’s felt and how he got through it because it was something he _wanted_ , and he knows that Aone’s right.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, I've—”

He gets up, folding his textbook closed and putting it in his bag, not even pausing to finish the sentence—got to go.

Usually, he likes to think he’s more dignified than running from the library to the third year classrooms, one eye on the wall clocks only to notice that the bell’s about to ring, that they’re about to be let out of their last classes of their time at high school and released into the real world. This is the _right time_ , Futakuchi realises. Not only that—it’s his last chance. He has to take it before the opportunity takes flight and leaves him behind.

Moniwa’s classroom empties out quickly, and Futakuchi sees Sasaya first, probably because of his ridiculous spiked hair—but of course, that means Moniwa can’t be far. Futakuchi doesn’t mind that he’s being jostled by third years, and shoves past them with his height to his advantage.

“Moniwa-san!”

“Futakuchi?” Moniwa blinks, surprise clear on his face. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Futakuchi says. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Is this about the club?” Moniwa asks.

Futakuchi breathes in. “It is,” he lies. “Let’s head outside.”

“Sure,” Moniwa says, although he looks kind of bemused.

They walk from the building and out into the school grounds, across the open lunch area and to somewhere more quiet, only a few students passing through every now and then. Futakuchi leads the way, because he doesn’t think he could do this in public.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Moniwa asks.

“Actually,” Futakuchi says, “I wanted to thank you.”

“Ah,” Moniwa says, going quiet all of a sudden. “Futakuchi, if you’re still worried—”

“I’m not worried,” Futakuchi says, “not anymore—and you know why that is, right? It’s because you were there to help me settle in. And, even though I’ve always thought I was a confident person, and even though you’re… kinda shy, I guess? You’re still so much stronger than me, so I wanted to—”

— _thank you_ , he thinks, but he can’t say it. He knows he’s rambling, talking around the real point, making a fool of himself. He should just—

“—I wanted to say that—”

It’s about now that he notices that Moniwa is actually _blushing_ , looking at his feet and not meeting Futakuchi’s eyes, and it’s now or never.

“—that I like you.”

There.

For twenty-five torturous seconds—Futakuchi counts, to take his mind off it—there’s silence. Moniwa is still looking away, clasping his hands together in front of him.

In fact, it’s Futakuchi who breaks the silence. “Wait,” he says, “let me do this properly.” He fumbles at his blazer, fingers twisting around the second button from the top. It’s only closest to the heart on a gakuran, but it’s the gesture that counts.

His hands shake, and to cover for it he mutters, “This is harder than it looks,"—Moniwa laughs, and Futakuchi’s reminded how Moniwa’s laugh makes his heart skip a beat. He feels so _stupid_ , for waiting this long.

"It doesn’t matter,” Moniwa says, speaking at last. “You—you don’t need to give me your button. You’ll just have to sew another one on.”

Futakuchi freezes. “You don’t want it?”

“No! I—” Moniwa pauses, and reaches out to close his hands over Futakuchi’s. “I like you too.”

This time, it’s thirty-nine seconds. Futakuchi counts again. He counts the seconds until he can say something, and all that comes out is an inelegant stammer. “W-we should probably do something about that.”

“Hmm?”

“Well, I like you, you like me.” He shrugs. “We could… date, or something?”

Moniwa laughs again, louder, brighter, closes his fingers tighter around Futakuchi’s hands. “It would be an honour.”

That catches Futakuchi off-guard. “What—no, Moniwa-san, it's—”

“Don’t even try to tell me it’s the other way around,” Moniwa says. “Soon, I’m not going to be your senpai anymore—and this can be something mutual.”

It feels too good to be true, but Futakuchi’s come to expect that anything involving Moniwa will make his head spin with that sort of disbelief. He closes his eyes for a second, just to relish the feeling, and when he opens them he sees that Moniwa is standing on his toes, drawing close.

And it’s too good, _and_ true. Futakuchi can’t believe he almost didn’t go through with it.

“Thank you,” Moniwa says, pulling back again. “This really has made my day.”


	21. Ennofuta + inter-high meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted on tumblr as "Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence." 7/2/16

Ennoshita watches the match with a sort of numb fascination, because he can’t bring himself to do anything else. Instead of Datekou and Seijou, he sees Karasuno and Wakunan, black and orange and white and pink blurring across his vision as their match progresses through the second set.

Seijou are in the lead. Ennoshita doesn’t want to think about what’ll happen if they end up playing Seijou next. He doesn’t want to think about what’ll happen if it’s Datekou either. At least either way it won’t be him on court. He looks across to where Daichi’s sitting, chatting to Datekou’s retired third years. They look energised. Daichi looks just like he normally does, apart from his bruise. It’s almost like he was never gone.

That’s all it was—it couldn’t have been more than an hour that Ennoshita was on court, certainly less. In an hour, the Universe blinks and nothing changes. It’s insignificant.

“You’re still tense,” Narita says, quietly, and it’s lost in the roar of the stadium as Seijou’s ace scores a point.

“Can you blame me?” Ennoshita asks, to no-one in particular.

The atmosphere shifts, and Ennoshita realises that the match is over, two different shades of blue on the court parting like a low tide. Karasuno took three sets to defeat Wakunan; Datekou didn’t even last two against Seijou.

“It’s Seijou, then,” someone says. Ennoshita doesn’t register who. The mood around Karasuno has changed too. There’s a score to settle with Seijou, and Ennoshita catches Hinata’s eyes as they stand up—the look on his face says _We’re going to win_.

Ennoshita remembers what Daichi said to him after the last match, the pride in his voice, whether real or a figment of Ennoshita’s imagination. He likes to think it was encouragement, an unofficial and perhaps premature passing of the baton. Then again, what he thinks doesn’t really matter if he doesn’t, _still_ doesn’t have the courage to face it, to face _any_ of it.

“I’ll catch you up,” he tells Kinoshita and Narita.

Right now, he can’t be around any of them. An awful part of his brain asks, “What if Daichi-san’s injuries play up again?” What if Ennoshita has to play at captaincy again, like a child fumbling with their first construction kit? What if he’s called on—will he have to admit it? “I’m sorry, I’m a fraud. I can’t do this. Not really.”

His feet carry him to the nearest bathroom and his eyes sting before he reaches the sink. He grips the edges like if he lets go he’ll start spiralling through the tiles, worn with rubber tracks and dappled with puddles of water. With one hand, he turns on the tap and lets the water run, putting off washing his tear-streaked face as long as possible. He doesn’t even remember starting to cry.

Through the noise of the tap and the creaking pipes and the footfalls in the corridor outside, Ennoshita is surprised when he hears a voice cut through it.

“I don’t know what _you’re_ crying about. You didn’t even lose your match.”

Ennoshita looks up slowly, taking in the sea blue first, then the captain’s number on his shirt—Datekou’s captain, conquered.

“Sorry,” Ennoshita says. He doesn’t know why he says it—as consolation? No, it’s more an apology for his own pathetic imitation of inadequacy, his ghost of a real problem.

Datekou’s captain narrows his eyes. “I don’t get it,” he says. “I think I saw you on court, against Wakunan? You took over from your captain, right?”

“That’s me,” Ennoshita says weakly. He coughs, standing up straight with the intention to look Datekou’s captain in the eye and finding himself a good ten centimetres short. “Uh, Ennoshita Chikara,” he adds, a half-hearted introduction.

“Futakuchi Kenji. And—are you alright?”

“It’s a long story,” Ennoshita says. “I… you said it yourself. I was standing in for the _captain_.”

“Let me guess,” Futakuchi says, “that’s you next year? You’re going to have to step out of his shadow eventually, you know.”

It’s been a long day, and it’s about to get even longer, so Ennoshita doesn’t hold back. “Don’t talk like you know me,” he snaps.

Futakuchi takes a step back like Ennoshita’s slapped him, and Ennoshita passingly feels guilty. “Know you?” Futakuchi asks. “I _am_ you.” He tugs at his shirt. “You know what number used to be here? Six, like you. You know what I went through when our third years—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence because, like Ennoshita a moment ago, there are tears welling in the corner of his eyes, a crack in his voice.

“You don’t know—” he tries, but doesn’t finish, burying his face in his hands.

Ennoshita understands the impulse to hide. “I’m sorry,” he says again, feeling more useless than ever. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

There’s an awful pause. Ennoshita doesn’t know how to comfort people, not really. He stands blankly in front of Futakuchi, thinks about Tanaka telling him he’d be able to understand every different type of person—but if he doesn’t know what type of person Futakuchi is, then what’s he supposed to do?

“Our team were looking forward to playing yours,” he says, filling the almost-silence.

“Because we’re easier to beat than Seijou,” Futakuchi says, parting his fingers to let Ennoshita see the grin on his face, the self-deprecating humour.

“Don’t worry,” Ennoshita says, “so are we.”

“A good match, then,” Futakuchi says.

Ennoshita imagines them on opposite sides of the court. It’s stupid, but he indulges anyway, lets that cruel part of his mind take over and puts Daichi on the bench, aside from the black and orange and teal and white. He steps a little back from the net, and this time he’s _ready_ for Kageyama’s toss; he doesn’t spike too hard and it doesn’t go out—he hits it off Futakuchi’s block and it bounces down onto the court, a loud, satisfying series of taps as the bounce fades to a gentle roll. The referee lowers the flag towards Karasuno, and a number ticks over on the sidelines.

“We would’ve been,” Ennoshita says.

“Maybe we will be,” Futakuchi says. “You never know. March prefecturals aren’t long after nationals. We might meet again as _captains_. I’ll shake your hand so hard you can’t spike.”

Ennoshita laughs, and he’s surprised to taste salt at the corner of his mouth, to find more tears coming out of his eyes. Futakuchi turns serious in an instant, though, reaching forward and grasping Ennoshita by the shoulders. For a heart-stopping moment Ennoshita thinks Futakuchi’s going to kiss him—time slows down and his heartbeat hammers against his chest like he’s living every love-at-first-sight romantic comedy he’s ever watched.

It doesn’t happen, though. Futakuchi barely even moves forward. Instead, he says, “Win for me. Beat Seijou, for the rematch our teams couldn’t have.”

Now, Ennoshita lets himself cry, properly, because it’s not even down to him. He’s on the bench, he’s not a valuable player, he doesn’t even know if he’ll make it to captaincy—all things he doesn’t say, because he doesn’t want to ruin the moment.

The first time they hug is there in the bathroom, Futakuchi moving his hands off Ennoshita’s shoulders and pulling him in, letting his collar get sodden with tears. Ennoshita clings to a spot just next to the line under the _2_ on Futakuchi’s shirt, like it’s a promise. The second time is after Karasuno beats Seijou that afternoon, and Ennoshita finds Futakuchi waiting under an awning outside the gym, changed out of his numbered uniform and into practice clothes. There are no tears this time, just a shout as Ennoshita fulfills his promise—vicariously, through his teammates, but a victory that feels like _his_ just as much as _theirs_ —and Futakuchi responds, breaking into a run, almost lifting Ennoshita off his feet as they stagger into equilibrium.

Ennoshita finds himself thinking that trying to fill a captain’s shoes might not be so bad if he has someone going through the same thing alongside him.

(The kiss doesn’t happen until the next day, when Karasuno beats Shiratorizawa and makes it to nationals, although it’s not so much cause for celebration as something that was obviously going to happen anyway. Black and orange and a flash of teal, phones changing hands and numbers entered—a rematch sooner than expected.)


	22. Oisuga + spicy food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

There is only one plausible explanation: Tooru's boyfriend is the devil himself. Suga is sitting there with his usual charming smile, and there's no hint that the soup he's just cooked is a firey hell broth, peppered with the screams of demons and Sisyphean wails of futility, and with Eurydice's dying cry as a garnish. And the worst part? When Tooru asked, "Can I try some?" Suga had replied with that same smile, "Of course you can!"


	23. Ennofuta + impulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

Ennoshita can count on one hand the number of times he's been impulsive in his life. So, no-one is more surprised than he is when he lets Futakuchi sweep him into a hug after the match, and when returns the gesture by swinging his arms around Futakuchi's neck and kissing him like there's nobody watching—which, of course, is a terrible idea, because in the rush of emotions, Ennoshita fails to register just how many people came to watch them play, never mind the players on court.


	24. Futaoi + shit talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

"You think you can get the better of me, do you?" Oikawa asks, deliberately provocative. "Would you like to try?"

Futakuchi's response rapid like it was already on his lips before Oikawa even spoke. "Make me."

"Oh," Oikawa says. "I think you're meant to say that... before we make out?"

"Oh," Futakuchi echoes. "Did we do this backwards?"

"I don't know," Oikawa admits. "I've never had a forbidden romance with a rival before."

"Okay," Futakuchi says, taking a deep breath. "Let's try again."


	25. Futaoi + shit talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

"You think you can get the better of me, do you?" Oikawa asks, deliberately provocative. "Would you like to try?"  
Futakuchi's response rapid like it was already on his lips before Oikawa even spoke. "Make me."  
"Oh," Oikawa says. "I think you're meant to say that... before we make out?"  
"Oh," Futakuchi echoes. "Did we do this backwards?"  
"I don't know," Oikawa admits. "I've never had a forbidden romance with a rival before."  
"Okay," Futakuchi says, taking a deep breath. "Let's try again."


	26. Ennofuta + stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

Late at night at training camp, once everyone is asleep, Futakuchi finds himself wandering. It's weird that this year they're training with Karasuno, when last year they were rivals. But it's good. Karasuno are good, and Futakuchi is working harder than ever.

It's a cold night, and a refreshing change from the awful, sweltering day. Futakuchi's muscles are not thanking him for all he's put them through, but walking at night is so calming that he'll keep going, even though his legs are aching.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees someone sitting under a tree, and it takes him a good few seconds before he realises it's just Karasuno's captain—someone he can't quite pin down. Midnight is as good a time as any to try, though.

"Hey," he says. "What're you doing out so late?"

Ennoshita glances up, and if he's at all surprised to see Futakuchi, he doesn't show it. "Ah," he says. "I don't really sleep."

"At all?" Futakuchi asks, sitting down beside him.

"I wonder," Ennoshita says with a laugh. "What're you doing, then?"

"Couldn't sleep," Futakuchi says. "You lot are working us too hard."

Ennoshita hums to himself. "Well, feel free to join me. I'm just stargazing."

Maybe, working him out can wait. For now, the quiet of the night can be enough.

 

(Six or seven hours later, Futakuchi wakes up under a tree with his head on Ennoshita's shoulder and an arm around his waist. And a group of third years from both teams, on a morning run, pointing and laughing.)


	27. Kyouyaha + hair dye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

"Hold still," Yahaba murmurs, well aware that his voice is more gentle than it usually is when he deals with Kyoutani, but then, they've never done anything like this before. Kyoutani's hair is short, but Yahaba takes his time running his fingers through it anyway, prolonging the sensation even through the gloves he's wearing. And there's something comfortable about it, about Kyoutani sitting between his legs as Yahaba, perched on a chair, helps dye his hair, and although comfort is never a word Yahaba would have used to describe Kyoutani—maybe, he can come around to using it a bit more.


	28. Matsuhana + swapping uniforms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

"Hmm," Hanamaki says, "do you want to be 2 or 3 today?"

He's holding a shirt in each hand, and Matsukawa's first thought is, why does he have my shirt? And then, 3. Definitely 3.


	29. Oisuga + smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

It's early morning, in the middle of a crowded train station when Suga first sees Oikawa smile, genuinely smile at him, he feels a shiver run down his spine and he thinks, "oh, so this is how it starts."


	30. Datekou + Pyrrhic victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

"Doesn't it feel that way, sometimes?" he asks his upperclassmen, but they brush it off, like it's nothing.

Sakunami spends the bus ride back to school looking at his feet. He was lucky they didn't have a better libero, and so he'd been on court for first match as a member of Datekou's volleyball club, for their first match of the year—it feels less like they won, and more like the other team lost. It was just a practice match, but Sakunami can't stop thinking about the others, and how it must have felt to have almost every spike blocked so conclusively.

25-9, 25-13.

How could they really call it a victory; how could they call it anything other than a defeat?  
  



	31. Oisuga + panacea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

"I can't help you through this," Koushi says, his voice barely raised above a tentative whisper. He trails his fingers down Tooru's arm, just lightly. "I can't—"

He pauses, his breath hitching.

"—I can't be your solution to everything."

"I know," Tooru says, rolling over and draping his arm over Koushi's waist. Now, they're lying on their sides facing each other, and Tooru nudges their knees together.

He doesn't need Koushi to fix everything right now, and he knows that he can't fix his own screw-ups, but he feels like as long as he has Koushi beside him, close enough that they won't lose the connection, he can get past this.


	32. Matsuhana + swimming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

Matsukawa splashes down his hands and sends a great wave through the inflatable pool that they've set up in Oikawa's backyard—the water goes straight into Hanamaki's face, and within seconds Hanamaki's sprung forward in retaliation. Only, sometimes with those two, retaliation isn't so much revenge as it is inappropriate snogging.

"Do you think they'd notice if we left?" Oikawa asks, pulling a face. "They're gross."

There is no response. Matsukawa and Hanamaki still have their tongues in each other's mouths.

"Too gross," Iwaizumi agrees, sending a splash in their direction.


	33. Oikawa + of bridges burned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

Leaving the gymnasium makes Tooru feel like he can breathe again. Out in the fresh air, away from Karasuno, away from Shiratorizawa, he thinks, yeah, he's alright. Looking around at his team crying does make him feel weird, like he should be crying with them, but it just feels like he's moved on, a bit. And he's still moving, he'll keep moving until he's at the peak of his game—and losing, here, now? All that means is that he's ready for whatever's coming for him next.


	34. Iwakiyo + first date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

Hajime has been so busy furiously hiding his own blush that, when he looks up from his cup of tea at the girl who somehow agreed to go on a date with him, he notices for the first time that she's blushing, too, and suddenly he feels a lot more at ease.


	35. Ennofuta + gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

Ennoshita hums, lifting his feet off the ground experimentally and letting himself float for a bit. "No wonder they train astronauts in swimming pools," he says. "It's like there's no gravity here."

"Ugh, no," Futakuchi says, "that's not how—"

He keeps going, and Ennoshita lets him talk. He doesn't really care about why buoyancy isn't an exact analogue for zero gravity, and why zero gravity isn't a thing, but why astronauts use pools for training anyway. But that's not the point. The point is that Futakuchi likes to pretend that he's not passionate about anything, because it's part of his cheeky, relaxed persona, and Ennoshita will savour any and every opportunity he gets to see the cracks in that facade.

"—and that's why—you're not listening, are you?"

"Gravity," Ennoshita says, to prove Futakuchi's point, "is a social construct."

That sets him off again.


	36. Futakuchi + mockingbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

He can't pinpoint when it started, but somewhere along the line, he becomes a provocateur, throwing back with practised ease the insults that are flung in his direction. He lets people talk down to him, lets them think he's just a joke, so that when he comes back at them they're not expecting it.

Somewhere along the line, it stops being a defence mechanism, it becomes second nature, and he can't tell it apart from how he used to be, whenever it was that he was someone different.


	37. Kyouyaha + victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

It's not the finals, it's not even the semifinals—it's just the first day of Inter High, but Yahaba already feels like he's floating, having somehow made it through the day at the helm of this weird, mismatched team.

The weirdest part, though, is that Kyoutani comes up to him after they're off the bus. "You did well," he says, a bit of the usual edge lacking from his gruff voice, and no louder than a whisper.

"Thanks," Yahaba says. He must sound confused, because Kyoutani does that thing where he narrows his eyes and sticks his chin out.

Yahaba waits until no-one else is within hearing range. "You did well too," he adds.


	38. Ennofuta + hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

Futakuchi traces his fingers down Ennoshita's palm, over the ridge where he's got a scar from an accident with a paring knife, and around to the back of his hand, over volleyball bruises and stray freckles. He sighs into Ennoshita's shoulder, half-asleep and crossed legs pressed against Ennoshita's back. Ennoshita hums, and Futakuchi hears the sound of a laptop closing, feels fingers threading through his.


	39. Monifuta + hindsight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

"It shouldn't have been me," Futakuchi confides, late one night when he should know better than to be awake. "Someone else... someone else should have been captain."

When Moniwa doesn't reply, he frowns.

"Or, I should have learnt better from you," Futakuchi continues.

Moniwa doesn't have a response for that either.


	40. Moniwa + there will always be tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

But for now, he's fighting back tears, slumped against the wall of the changing room, pressing his palms to his eyes.

"Tomorrow," the team's captain says again, but it doesn't register as more than an echo in Moniwa's ears, because it's still today, and he still feels useless.


	41. Aone + no room in frame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

"Smile!" Futakuchi says. He pauses, narrowing his eyes and glancing sideways at Aone. "You're not smiling."

"I don't fit in," Aone says.

"Don't be stupid," Futakuchi says, swinging an arm around Aone's back and shoving Onagawa to one side, "no-one's too big for a selfie."

Onagawa, to his credit, barely grumbles as he's relegated to the corner of Futakuchi's phone screen, and Futakuchi shifts himself to make room for half of Aone's face and one of his shoulders. He presses the button at the bottom of the screen, and it takes a photo with a bright flash.

"Aw," Futakuchi says. "Aone, you blinked."


	42. Nametsu + wishbones and backbones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

Sometimes when her mother tells her to grow a backbone, when her father tells her she should pick a real sport instead of just watching boys play volleyball, she comes close to quitting.

Sometimes, though, when she watches Aone blocking and Futakuchi spiking, she knows that she's picked the right path, because they're not just boys, they're her teammates, and they work together in ways that she knows her parents couldn't even imagine.


	43. Kyouyaha + solve for x

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

Yahaba writes an equation on the slip of paper between them: 6x2 \+ 4x + 9 = 0. "Solve for x," he says.

Kyoutani pretends to think about it, but he's already calculated the discriminant in his head—10i times root 2—and it's pretty obvious that it's a complex solution, anyway, just from looking at the numbers. Yahaba probably thinks he's being clever, throwing Kyoutani in the deep end in their first maths tutoring session, but Kyoutani knows that quadratic equations are for babies.

There's only one reason he asked Yahaba to help him with maths, and it's probably because he's a masochist, because he likes it when Yahaba glares at him, when Yahaba purposefully throws him tosses he knows Kyoutani won't be able to hit, when Yahaba purposefully knocks their shoulders together as they pass each other in the corridors. He likes the way Yahaba always gives him these looks like he's not even worth the shit on his shoe, the way Yahaba is taller than him and always seems to be looking down on him. He likes the way Yahaba thinks he knows best, even when Kyoutani's playing him like a fiddle.

So he leans back in the seat. "This is stupid," he says, throwing down his pen. "Explain it again."


	44. Ushimoni + florist AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

"They're for your mother again?" the florist asks. When Wakatoshi nods, the florist gets a sort of wistful smile on his face. "She's very lucky that she has such an attentive son."

Wakatoshi nods again—it's easier than admitting that he just puts the flowers on his dining table to make his flat seem more lived-in, and that he's only coming to this same shop because there's something about the way the florist's fingers work around the stems, picking out the nicest combinations and arranging them in such a pleasing way, and tying them together with a satisfied smile on his face.

The florist rings up the bouquet on the till. "Oh," he says suddenly, "I almost forgot."

He jumps around, picking a single gardenia from the collection behind him and clipping it a bit higher than he usually would. Then, he leans over the counter and sticks the flower in Wakatoshi's buttonhole, the second one down on his jacket. Wakatoshi feels his eyes widen without his permission, and reaches up a hand to adjust the flower so that it doesn't fall out.

"That one's free of charge," the florist says, retreating back to the till. The florist can't look Wakatoshi in the eye, and that's Wakatoshi's only clue as to what this might mean. He tells himself that he'll work it out before the bouquet he leaves the store with has wilted, in time to think up a response when he comes in to buy a replacement.


	45. Oikuroo + childhood friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

It's at nationals, when Tooru breaks away from the crowd, that he notices him—he doesn't want to be too obvious, though, so he waits until everyone is occupied looking through the team rosters to sneak away and confirm his suspicion that the tall boy with the ridiculous hair is Tetsurou. When Tooru moved away from Tokyo when he was seven, he hadn't even considered the idea of keeping in touch with the other kids in his volleyball club.

Talking to Tetsurou after so long is easy, though. He recognises Tooru immediately, and they get on just as well as they did when they were kids. And when they swap numbers, Tooru thinks they might even get on better.


	46. Ushimoni + touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

The first time Ushijima touches him, just a hand on his shoulder, Kaname feels like he's going to jump out of his own skin. It had to have been an accident, he tells himself. The second time, though, it's their thighs pressed together on an empty train; the third, fingers around his wrist. After that, Kaname loses count. After that, Ushijima becomes Wakatoshi, and the touches become deliberate.


	47. Ennofuta + storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on ask.fm. Date unknown.

It's raining when they get off the train, and halfway back to Kenji's house it starts really pouring. The umbrella they're sharing—an overpriced necessity from a store near the station—does nothing to fend off the sideways shafts of rain that blow across with the wind, or the growing puddles that easily insinuate their way into cloth shoes.

"We really should have checked the weather report," Kenji says. It's uphill to his house. His soaked jeans are not giving him much freedom on the climb.

"It's alright," Chikara says, which is probably the stupidest thing Kenji's ever heard, because Chikara's left arm, the one outside the umbrella, is dripping with water, and he's the one in the more impractical shoes.

But then, Chikara gives Kenji this grin like he's been planning the change in weather since last weekend, when they set aside some time for today.

"What?" Kenji says, because he can tell Chikara's looking for an opening.

"You'll just have to let me borrow some of your clothes," Chikara says, blandly, like it shouldn't bother Kenji at all.

In retaliation, Kenji yanks the umbrella away from Chikara and pulls it down to hide his face, to hide the blush he knows is spreading from his collar to his cheeks.

"You'll have to get a bit more water on you first," he says, muffling the indignant edge to his voice with flimsy, wet fabric.

"Joke's on you," Chikara says, lifting up the side of the umbrella and sliding back under, just as a loud clap of thunder echoes down the street, "I love this weather."


	48. Ennofuta + chem lab partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a three-sentence fic prompt on tumblr, from an anonymous user: "EnnoFuta: chemistry lab partners but they didn't seal the container properly so oops the class is high off of ethanol vapor" Date unknown.

Ennoshita is ready to yell when they’re kicked out of class, because this is probably the worst Patented Futakuchi Lab Mishap since he burnt off what was left of Aone’s eyebrows, and getting sent to the Principal’s office actually doesn’t seem like a harsh enough punishment.  
  
“I’m going to request a new lab partner,” Ennoshita says—calmly, because in the long run, yelling wouldn’t accomplish much except making Futakuchi laugh, “and then—”  
  
“Hey,” Futakuchi interrupts, like he hasn’t been listening at all, which, of _course_ he hasn’t, "want to skip after we’ve spoken to the Principal and go get ice cream?”


	49. Tsukkiyama + astronomers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a three-sentence fic prompt on tumblr, from an anonymous user. Date unknown.
> 
> Never ask an astronomer to write a fic about astronomers.

The workroom is quiet after six, but Tadashi’s stuck at his desk sorting out the last of his simulations and debugging three hundred lines of code—it’s worth the wait, though, because at six-thirty the telescope goes online, and he can open up the interface for remote observation and watch as the new data starts to come in. And, if the cute telescope operator with the glasses is on the other end, then Tadashi will use the faculty’s skype account to call through and pretend he has a technical issue, just so he has an excuse to tell Kei about his day and the paper he’s writing and ask if he can get a heads up on any open slots for observation coming up, even though he’s got all the data he needs, because he really would rather be observing something—or specifically, _someone_ —else.  
  
Before he can do anything, though, skype rings with an incoming call from the telescope facility.


	50. Matsuhana + music AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a three-sentence prompt on tumblr, from an anonymous user: "AU in which Hanamaki plays cello and Matsukawa is his piano accompanist for a competition." Date unknown.

Takahiro never talks before concerts, but Issei has been his backstage moral support before, and he’s used to it after five years of being friends and two of being more—still, they’d agreed that they’d always keep their music separate, because what good could come of a jazz pianist accompanying a classical cellist? Issei is only here in a pinch, and he barely had time to learn the music, so he’ll be sight-reading, mostly.

“This won’t change anything,” Takahiro says quietly, “if we don’t let it.”

 


	51. Tsukishima brothers + boxed lunches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a one-sentence prompt on tumblr. Date unknown.

Akiteru leaves a box out for Kei, like he has every morning, but Kei doesn’t take this one—not after _that_.


	52. Matsuhana + water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a one-sentence prompt on tumblr. Date unknown.

Hanamaki’s been in the showers for way too long, which sort of worries Matsukawa—but, apparently that’s what Hanamaki _wanted_ him to think, because when he opens the changing room door and calls out “Hey idiot, what’re you—” he’s cut off by a spray of water from an outstretched shower head, right in the face.


	53. Ennofuta + future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a one-sentence prompt on tumblr. Date unknown.

It’s a few moments before Kenji, half-asleep, registers that the weight sinking the other end of the couch is Chikara, and it’s another few moments before it sinks in that he’s drifted off on the couch, in the flat they share, and it’s scarily like something he once imagined, a scene he pictured when he thought about what the future would be like, and he’s too overwhelmed by the thought to do anything in greeting except to nudge Chikara with his heel.


	54. Matsuhana + wrong number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a three-sentence prompt on tumblr, from San. Date unknown.

“Hey, sexy,” Hanamaki says, lowering his voice as he speaks into his phone, “doing anything tonight?”  
  
He’s met with a pause from the other end, and then laughter, loud and gleeful. “Oh my god, Makki, next time do me a favour and _look at your phone_ before you press one of the contacts in your speed dial… ?”


	55. Daisuga + wrong trousers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a one-sentence prompt on tumblr, from Carole. Date unknown.

Ten minutes later, while Suga’s still trying to figure out why his phone feels like it’s got more room in his pocket than usual, the phone buzzes with a text from Daichi: _Help, I can’t feel my legs, I think we’ve made a terrible mistake_.


	56. Oisuga + autumn weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a one-sentence prompt on tumblr, from lemedy. Date unknown.

It starts with “Suga-chan, let me share your scarf!” and ends with legs tangled together, bruises from the arm of the park bench, and Oikawa finding no less than three dried-up leaves in his sweater when he gets home.


	57. Kagehina + extra time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a one-sentence prompt on tumblr, from Aro. Date unknown.

“How long have they been going for?” Yachi asks nervously, although she’s been watching the rally as long as Yamaguchi has, and she knows that Kageyama and Hinata have been spiking that ball across the net for the best part of twenty minutes—she’s always so awed by their connection like that.

 


	58. Oisuga + trapped in an elevator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 23/3/15

The elevator creaks once, twice, and then stops. Tooru jerks backwards, steadying himself against the wall of his new metal prison. Now would not be a good time for any mild claustrophobia to surface.

 

At least he has a companion.

 

“Ah,” Suga says, “looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…”

 

Tooru nods, trying to play it cool as he watches Suga press the emergency button. There’s not much they can do now but wait.

 

“It’s a pity,” Suga continues. “I don’t like the idea of missing lab. Still, I’ve sort of always wanted to be trapped in an elevator.”

 

Tooru lets his mouth hang open. “You, uh—”

 

“There are so many things we can do to keep ourselves occupied until help arrives,” Suga says.

 

They have a hard time explaining to the maintenance crew, when they arrive, why their shirts are on the floor.


	59. Kyouyaha + "blame me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 9/7/15

“Blame me,” Kyoutani says.

 

It catches Shigeru off-guard, while they’re waiting for the bus to take them back to school after their final match of Spring High. Semi-finals aren’t _bad_ , but they’re not good enough either—Shigeru’s been taking as much blame as he can onto his own shoulders, because he knows he could have done better, worked harder, made more of a difference for the upperclassmen.

 

So to hear Kyoutani, of all people, saying that—it’s disconcerting, almost like he’d been reading Shigeru’s mind.

 

“Why would I do that?” Shigeru asks, trying not to let his voice sound too strained. He’s tired, he’s sore, and he doesn’t want to think about it.

 

“That’s what you’re good at,” Kyoutani says, “blaming me for all your shit. Go on, do it again, tell me it was my fault.”

 

Shigeru decides to surprise him. “You played—well, you weren’t bad.”

 

Kyoutani hums. “You’ll blame me tomorrow,” he grumbles.

 

Shigeru wonders if that’s true.


	60. Ennoaka + secret admirer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 15/7/15

From one side of the net to the other is a long distance, even longer from the bench. Chikara knows that reasonably he should be focusing on both teams playing, his own team as well as Fukuroudani, but then there’s Akaashi.

 

Akaashi is so out-of-this-world he may as well be from another planet, quiet but threatening, aloof but kind. Chikara’s only spoken to him a couple of times, but every time has been—special, almost. They’re both second years, and there’s the unspoken agreement that they’ll both be captains of their respective teams next year.

 

Then there are the quiet moments, gaps between conversation, sitting together at dinner or in between practice matches. Still, they’re not quite enough to communicate what Chikara wants to say, what he won’t say, what he’ll bottle up until training camp is over and he doesn’t have to think about Akaashi anymore.

 

And that’s fine—for now, watching from the other side of the bench, a secret is enough.


	61. Kurodai + escaping prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 21/9/15

“C’mon,” Kuroo says, more to himself than anyone, “doubles—”

 

He rolls the dice, and they land on a two and a four. That’s jail for another turn then. Leaning across the board to Daichi, he wraps an arm around the back of his neck, pulls him in for a kiss—long, and slow, how he knows Daichi prefers it—whispers, “Does it work if I seduce the warden?”

 

Daichi has That Face on, though, as he says, “Kuroo, I like you, but I wouldn’t even trade my Get Out Of Jail Free card for Mayfair, let alone a kiss.”

 

“Oh well,” Kuroo mumbles, pulling back and rolling the dice across the board to Daichi, who is on the verge of passing Go. “Worth a shot.”


	62. Bokuaka + jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 22/9/15

If Koutarou were to count the minutes he had been staring longingly in Akaashi’s direction, he would soon run out of fingers, and then toes, and if he started switching to strands of hair to count with, he’d probably run out of those too. If he were to add up the minutes, he’d soon reach hours—or at least that’s how it felt, when in reality Akaashi had only just opened his bento, displaying the immaculate sushi within to grace Koutarou’s vision.

 

Chopsticks halfway between the bento and his mouth, Akaashi pauses. “Bokuto-san. If you’re hungry, you should just say so.”

 

“I forgot my lunch,” Koutarou says, which is sort of true. It’s not his fault that he was hungry on the morning train. And then hungry in first period. And second period. Anyway, it looks so good that he adds, “Plus, I’m _jealous_.”

 

Akaashi rolls his eyes, lowering his chopsticks back down. “Jealous that a piece of sushi is getting closer to my mouth than you?”

 

And, without warning, he turns his head and graces Koutarou’s lips with the briefest of kisses. It wasn’t what Koutarou meant—but maybe this is better.


	63. Levyaku + windy days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 25/9/15

Today is the day that Yaku has given in. He has thrown away what’s left of his dignity, sealed it in cement, wrapped it in chains, condemned it to the bottom of the ocean. The wind is blowing a gale, and Lev begins with, “Yaku-san should hold my hand, just in case the wind blows him away!”

 

And Yaku. Gives. In.

 

He reaches up—actually has to _physically lift his arm_ —to hold Lev’s hand, and his own feels completely subsumed by Lev’s endless fingers and vast palm.

 

“You’re lucky I like you,” Yaku says. “We look like a joke.”

 

Lev bends down and kisses Yaku on the head. “If I were much shorter, I wouldn’t be able to do that,” he says, content, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and, maybe, it is.


	64. Kurodai + captain's meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 25/9/15

“You said this was meant to be a captain’s meeting,” Daichi says, narrowing his eyes. “Only, it looks like just you and me.”

 

“Oh, damn,” Kuroo says, “I could have _sworn_ I invited the others.”

 

Daichi sighs—he wishes he had it in him to be annoyed. “You’re so transparent,” he says. “This is more like a date than anything else.”

 

Kuroo bends down, just a bit, and kisses him on the cheek. “You think?”


	65. Matsuhana + shampoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr, "MatsuHana, and A GIANT HEAD SHAPED SHAMPOO STAIN :P :P :P" 25/9/15

When Takahiro looks up, Issei’s fingers still in his hair, he butts his head into Issei’s shirt with the sort of spectacular timing that only they can manage.

 

“Ugh, sorry—”

 

As if to say, _it’s fine_ , Issei takes Takahiro’s chin in his hand and tilts it up so that their mouths connect, slowly at first, but then with more force as Takahiro moves upwards, closer—


	66. Oisuga + library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 25/9/15

☆ Item #5

 

Location: Library (behind the stacks)

 

Time elapsed: 5:31:07

 

Description: Texted Suga during maths, suggested we try kissing in the library today. Suggestion carried as a unanimous motion. Arrived at the library just after our lectures had ended for the day, other students slowly filtering out for evening classes. Found a quiet place—Dewey decimal 874, Latin lyric poetry—talked for a while, although not for long. Suga advises decorum: overruled.


	67. Ennofuta + scarves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 25/9/15

Kenji’s hands are calloused from knitting when he shows up at eight in the morning on what must be the coldest day on record since they started keeping records—or, maybe it’s just cold because he’s been awake all night knitting, literally _knitting_ his boyfriend a scarf, until his fingers were shaking too much from the cold to keep going. As he texts from outside the door—instead of ringing the doorbell, because that’s just _rude_ at eight on a Sunday—he briefly wonders whether it was worth it. When Chikara opens the door, though, still in his pyjamas and not even shivering, he takes the scarf around Kenji’s neck into his hands and pulls him close for a kiss to his numb lips—and, yeah, it’s worth it.


	68. Matsuhana + kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 25/9/15

Ridiculous—right?—but Hanamaki starts categorising their kisses. He keeps lists and lists within lists, a great, sprawling library in his mind of every time he and Matsukawa kiss, because they still haven’t told anyone, so it’s still something he _can_ list, something he knows is only his secret. The problem with keeping lists is that it’s always different—sometimes they’re quiet, gentle, behind the library after school, sometimes they’re loud, full of momentum, in the middle of a hallway or outside the gym. Sometimes Matsukawa asks, “Can I kiss you?”—other times, it’s just a turn of the head, a tacit agreement to meet in the middle. It’s never a bad thing, though, even when things are bad—sometimes it’s a consolation, but most of the time it’s the prize.


	69. Ennofuta + Howl's Moving Castle AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 26/9/15

Kisses are something that people fantasise about, something for princes and princesses, and maybe for magicians too, but not for people like Chikara, quiet, solitary, unassuming. Until, of course, they’re not, and they become very real, and surprisingly frequent, and eventually, mundane.

 

Their first kiss—Chikara and the magician—is on the balcony, as the wind blows either side of them. It’s agreed upon in a look, and when Chikara realises what’s happening it’s almost too late—Futakuchi is leaning down, eyes half-closed, and Chikara gasps, turning away. Instead, Futakuchi kisses his cheek.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Futakuchi says. “We can try again.”

 

“Now,” Chikara insists. Now, his aim is true, and it’s more magical than any of the strange things that’ve been happening to him, like his still-white hair and the castle moving around him, more vivid than any fantasy, more fantastical than anything that could possibly be real.


	70. Oisuga + comforting kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 26/9/15
> 
> Warnings: anxiety, panic attacks

Tooru doesn’t run, because people stare if you run—instead, he walks away calmly, his chest tight, telling himself he can breathe through his nose. Suga—Suga _follows_ , which isn’t new, but right now, Tooru wishes he could just be _alone_ —

 

“Hey,” Suga says quietly, “tell me if you want me to go.”

 

He’s like a mind reader, sometimes, and that changes Tooru’s mind. Tooru shakes his head slowly, and holds out his hands for Suga to grasp.

 

“You got this,” Suga says quietly. He leans forward, asking for permission, and Tooru nods. As his breathing steadies, Suga leans in and kisses him, just gently, just enough that Tooru feels a bit of his spark return, like his lips are a lifeline.

 

“Yeah,” Tooru says. “I know.”


	71. Matsuhana + art accidents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 26/9/15

There’s paint smeared across Matsukawa’s face, running down his neck, splattered across his school shirt like a crime scene and somehow completely missing his apron. He blinks, and there’s paint in his eyelashes. It’s almost Seijou blue, but school spirit is no excuse for this sort of mess. The tube of acrylic paint in his hands is a burst mess, sticking under his fingernails and dripping slowly beneath his cuffs.

 

The next surprise, after the exploding tube of paint, is Hanamaki swiping his thumb across Matsukawa’s eyes, and when Matsukawa opens his eyes Hanamaki is _really close_ , and the next thing they’re kissing, _in the middle of class_ , and there’s probably paint on Hanamaki’s lips, and—it’s the best kiss Matsukawa’s ever had.


	72. Mastuhana + selfishness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 26/9/15

“I’m—”

 

—Takahiro leans in, runs a finger along Issei’s chin, up to his ear—

 

“—keeping—”

 

—around, behind and into his messy hair, pressing down the palms of his fingertips—

 

“—you—”

 

—moves closer, so that their noses are touching, closes and opens his eyes to make sure he’s not just seeing things—

 

“—to—”

 

—and then presses his lips to Issei’s, just for a second, and pulls back to finish his sentence:

 

“—myself.”


	73. Kuroaka + joint practise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 30/10/15

Kuroo loves joint practices with Fukuroudani. _Loves_ them. Loves that it’s an excuse to spend some time with his excessively studious boyfriend, even though they can’t really kiss on court—only for want of the net between them, though. And Akaashi is kinda prim. He probably wouldn’t be into kissing in front of everyone.

 

—which is why Kuroo waits until they’re cleaning up, putting away the net and gathering up the balls, to pinch Akaashi’s sleeve and drag him outside the gym for just a second, for the most fleeting of kisses before they go back in, before anyone notices they’re missing.


	74. Tananoya + kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 30/10/15

“—but my favourite part of you,” Yuu says, because he _loves_ the way it makes Ryuu blush and fidget, “is _here_.”

 

He prods his finger right into Ryuu’s collarbone, grinning.

 

“Ouch!” Ryuu says, leaning backwards. “That hurt.”

 

“No way,” Yuu says. “You’re just being a baby.”

 

Ryuu tries his best to put on a serious frown. “Yes way. You’re gonna have to kiss it better.”

 

Yuu looks up, and they share a smile.


	75. Tsukishima brothers + childhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 30/10/15

Akiteru rubs his eyes—it’s late, and he’s tired, duly exhausted after a long celebration for his tenth birthday. He’s never been up until nine before, and he feels a little proud, a little rebellious. In triumph, he wanders past where his baby brother is asleep on the couch.

 

“Kei,” he says. “Hey, Kei. Wake up. It’s still my birthday!”

 

Kei is a very annoying baby, and just keeps sleeping.

 

“Tch,” Akiteru mumbles to himself. “Suit yourself.” He pecks Kei on the forehead and tiptoes away, leaving him in the quiet of the house for their mum to carry him to bed when she’s done putting away the cake.


	76. Ushimoni + overthinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 30/10/16

As usual, Kaname overthinks things. He has a speech prepared, and a list of references he can cite if need be, in order to convince Wakatoshi that it’s time for them to take the next step in their relationship: _using tongue_. He writes the speech out on flashcards and runs through it twice in the mirror before leaving for Wakatoshi’s place that afternoon, and reads his flashcards over and over on the bus.

 

It’s all for nothing, though—when Wakatoshi lets Kaname in and closes the door behind them, it’s straight to business, Wakatoshi’s arms around his waist, bending down, leaning in for a kiss. And, when their tongues come into contact, Kaname drops his flashcards.


	77. Fukutora + communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 30/10/15

Fukunaga still doesn’t talk much, but that’s just fine by Taketora, because he has other ways of expressing himself. Taketora wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he’s developed an encyclopaedic knowledge of Fukunaga’s small mannerisms and what they mean. He’s practically a world expert. His favourite is the kiss on the nose—what _that_ means, Taketora wouldn’t admit out loud either.


	78. Konoaka + summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 30/10/15

It’s the middle of summer and they’re curled around each other like cats, the air heavy with the smells of sweat and fresh watermelon. When Konoha twists to reach for the remote to adjust the AC, he sees Akaashi’s shirt riding up, just a bit, and kisses his exposed skin in passing. He flops over Akaashi’s middle, hand extended for the remote, but it’s just that little bit too far. He’s too warm, but he doesn’t want to move either. It makes matters easier when Akaashi shifts, takes the remote and slips it beneath Konoha’s palm. “Don’t make it too cold,” he says, running the fingers of his other hand through Konoha’s hair. 


	79. Kinonari + kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 30/10/15

It’s rare that there’s a moment like this, with just the two of them in the clubroom. And, god, Kinoshita is _tired_. He slumps against Narita, not even bothering to use an arm to steady himself or anything. There’s a gap just between Narita’s neck and his t-shirt where Kinoshita’s head fits perfectly, and he plants a quick kiss on Narita’s collarbone before settling in. Narita wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer. They don’t need to say anything.


	80. Matsuhana + reassurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 30/10/15

“You’ll be _fine_ ,” Matsukawa says, for maybe the tenth time. “Just, don’t think about _nerves_ , or any of that.”

 

Hanamaki hums, slipping his fingers through Matsukawa’s. “Maybe I need something to calm me down.”

 

While no-one’s looking, Matsukawa leans down and kisses him quickly on the lips. “More after,” he says.

 

He’s greeted with a grin in return, and he can’t help but wonder if Hanamaki really was nervous in the first place. It takes a second, but Hanamaki eventually lets go of his hand and takes a deep breath. Matsukawa thinks he’ll be fine. 


	81. Oishira + looking down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 30/10/15

Shirabu is used to looking up to Oikawa— _literally_ —but now it’s an inconvenience, standing on his toes just to get a decent angle for their kiss. It’s only ten centimetres, but it feels like a kilometre.

 

“You know,” Oikawa says, sounding a little impatient, “if you stood on your toes I could probably use more tongue.”

 

“Or you could bend down,” Shirabu snaps.

 

He knows Oikawa likes a challenge, knows how to press his buttons—and they meet in the middle, lips, teeth, and tongue, all in.


	82. Iwaoi + first kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 30/10/15

Their first kiss, as it turns out, is by accident. Not that Tooru’s been _anticipating_ it, or anything. That’d be stupid. Seriously stupid. And it’s not like it’s _his_ first kiss, anyway, _obviously_ not—if he’d never kissed before, he wouldn’t have been the perfect person to offer Yahaba kissing advice on the third night of training camp.

 

Not that Yahaba’s a very receptive student, but he’ll thank Tooru when he’s older.

 

“So, you purse your lips like _this_ —”

 

—at the same time as Iwaizumi steps between them, half-naked and headed for the bathrooms, with a “’Scuse me, coming through—”

 

—and Tooru’s pursed lips come in contact with the skin right above the hem of Iwaizumi’s shorts.

 

“Like _that_?” Yahaba teases.

 

Tooru struggles to formulate a response, staring after Iwaizumi, who quite clearly didn’t register what happened at _all_. It takes him a moment to collect himself. “Of course not like that!” he bristles.

 

(Later, he’ll find out that Iwaizumi _did_ realise, but was blushing too hard to do anything other than run away, and he’ll get to do it again—this time, on purpose.)


	83. Ennofuta + reassurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 30/10/15

It’s reassurance, sometimes, and that’s all Futakuchi needs—when it’s raining outside and he feels as overcast as the weather, bored, useless. Ennoshita sweeps past, pauses, doubles back on himself, steadies a hand on Futakuchi’s shoulder and leans down to kiss him on the forehead.

 

“Thanks,” Futakuchi mumbles, even though Ennoshita’s already gone again.


	84. Terushira + came all this way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 30/10/15

“You came all this way to watch,” Shirabu says. It’s not framed as a question, more as an expression of disbelief. He’s getting his head around it that someone would take a train to Tokyo in the middle of one of the worst storms the country’s ever seen—for _him_.

 

Terushima rubs the back of his head—wow, he looks different with the rain washing out all of that hair gel—and laughs. “Yeah?”

 

That shouldn’t be framed as a question, less an expression of disbelief in himself. So Shirabu does the only thing that makes sense anymore, throws his umbrella down and his arms up around Terushima’s neck. He’s drenched within a second, but it’s the best kiss he’s ever had.


	85. Matsuhana + first kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 16/11/15

Their first kiss is not gentle, tender, romantic. It’s not pretty, and there’s no camera angle that would make it a work of art. It’s messy, sweaty, fingers curled between the curves of number 3 on a polyester shirt and in tangles of curling black hair, under the blinding lights of the gymnasium, against the net, in front of their friends and teammates—in victory, satisfied in the knowledge that even if they don’t win their next match, this is the _real_ prize.


	86. Levyaku + mascot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 16/11/15

Sometimes, Yaku reminds Lev of their old school’s mascot, especially when he’s cold or tired or both, on a morning like this. Lev lives for these mornings, when Yaku doesn’t say much, just clings to him like a cat and refuses to get out of bed. It’s very sweet. Yaku is always alert and talkative that Lev is happy to have him like this sometimes—not that he doesn’t like him when he’s alert and talkative too—with a hand in Lev’s hair and a leg wrapped around his, and leaning up to press his lips to Lev’s jaw. That’s enough, really.


	87. Oisuga + kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 22/11/15

Oikawa kisses like he plays volleyball: with fervour and determination, with skill and strength, but with a sort of tenderness and respect that you only afford something you really, truly care about above and beyond everything else. Theoretically, Suga knows that Oikawa _obviously_ cares more about volleyball than he cares about him—they’ve only been dating for a little while—but the way Oikawa’s tongue runs along the side of Suga’s mouth, from his lips to his gums and scraping across his teeth, and the way their lips slide together, and the way Oikawa’s so _handsy_ , palms and fingers everywhere at once—well, it’s almost enough to convince Suga, just for a moment, that he’s #1 on Oikawa’s list.


	88. Kinonari + kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 23/11/15

“Hey,” Kinoshita says, “look at me.”

 

At first, Narita’s eyes are still cast to the side, but Kinoshita puts his hands to Narita’s cheeks and centres his gaze. “Look at me.”

 

“You know it wasn’t good enough,” Narita says. Shit, his voice is so _soft_ , breaking on the edge of tears.

 

“You’ll never be a Tsukishima,” Kinoshita says. He pauses. “For one, you’re too short—”

 

Narita laughs weakly. “Thanks.”

 

“—and you don’t need to be,” Kinoshita finishes. “You play well in your own right. You're—Kazuhito, you—”

 

Sometimes, actions do it better than half-mumbled platitudes. Kinoshita closes the distance between them and firmly presses his lips to Narita’s.

 

“You did your best,” Kinoshita says, “against fucking _Shiratorizawa_. I think that’s _incredible_.”

 

The ghost of a smile makes its way onto Narita’s face. “I think _you’re_ —”

 

“No, don’t say it!” Kinoshita says, and, to stop this from turning into a _moment_ , he kisses Narita again, harder.


	89. Daisuga + kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 23/11/15

If there’s one thing Daichi’s learnt, over the course of their almost-three-year acquaintance, it’s that Suga’s a _very_ physical person. He pokes and prods and he’s even left Daichi with a few accidental bruises from his enthusiasm. He builds up to a hug like a run-up to a synchronised toss, and when he’s sleepy he’s even _more_ affectionate, always resting his head on Daichi’s shoulder.

 

When he kisses, though, he’s more withdrawn. They’ve been dating for a month already, and Suga hasn’t done anything more than kiss him on the cheek. And, when Daichi says, “Hey, kiss me properly,” Suga gets this _look_ on his face, and leans forward, and—

 

—and kisses Daichi on the nose.

 

“Hey,” he says, as Daichi’s face falls, “what were you expecting?”


	90. Kurodai + sleeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 23/11/15

Daichi’s never seen Kuroo sleep. Okay, well, he’s only been around Kuroo a few times, but there’s something quite peaceful about watching him sleep. At least this way there’ll be no loud but friendly teasing, the sort that usually gets Daichi fired up enough to pull a few punches. They have that sort of rapport. But like this—this is good too. Impulsively, Daichi leans down and kisses Kuroo on the forehead. It’s short, gentle, and Kuroo barely stirs. But then, a moment later, he twists, curls so that he’s lying around Daichi like a cat. Daichi couldn’t resist running a hand through Kuroo’s ridiculous hair even if he tried. Yeah—it’s nice like this. 


	91. Oihana + famous AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr, from Ann. 23/11/15

The cameras go off, and Oikawa’s arm tightens around Hanamaki’s waist. Jostling a bit so that  he doesn’t end up looking like arm candy, Hanamaki steps a little bit more into the light. This is their first time on the red carpet together—that is, _together_ together, and Hanamaki would be stupid if he denied his nerves, but he’d also be stupid not to capitalise on this occasion. And he doesn’t want anyone to think that he’s the pretty but useless one in this relationship. No, that’s definitely Oikawa.

 

Stupid, perceptive Oikawa. “Scared, Hiro-chan?”

 

“Call me that one more time and I’ll step on your toes,” Hanamaki says, snapping to—okay, to cover for nerves.

 

Oikawa laughs, standing on his toes as Hanamaki leans away from him and moving to kiss him on the nose. “You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he says—and Hanamaki’s aware of the flashes getting more frequent now, the lights getting brighter—and adds, “now, smile for the cameras!”


	92. Matsuoi + next time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr. 23/11/15

It’s not often that it’s just the two of them. Oikawa and Iwaizumi are always famously inseperable, and Matsukawa’s the same with Hanamaki, but having a best friend is different to having a _boyfriend_ , even though they’re only tentatively using that word. So, they find time, in the moments in between—before school, after practice, moments like now, in the changing room after a match that might not have gone as well as they’d wanted it to. Oikawa buries his head in the crook of Matsukawa’s neck, presses his lips to his collarbone, works his way up to his jaw.

 

“Maybe next time,” Matsukawa whispers.

 

“Yeah,” Oikawa says. “Next time.”


	93. Ennofuta + phone numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr: "In hindsight, leaving this task up to him was a really bad idea." 21/5/16

In hindsight, leaving this task up to him was a really bad idea. Unfortunately, while Ennoshita was blessed with the gift of impeccable hindsight, his foresight was still lacking, and he watched Noya approach Datekou’s captain, his stomach sinking.

 

“Hey,” Noya said, “my friend wants your number!”

 

From a distance, Ennoshita could just see Datekou’s captain raise both his eyebrows, one of them disappearing under his fringe. “Um, I don’t think so,” he said. “Maybe another time.”

  
-  
 

In hindsight, leaving this task up to him was a really bad idea. Unfortunately, while Ennoshita was blessed with the gift of impeccable hindsight, his uni friends had no such foresight, and so he was urged ahead as the hapless proxy, twisting his phone between his fingers.

 

“Hey,” he said to the man at the bar, strangely familiar, “my, uh—my friend wants your number.”

 

“Does he?” Datekou’s former captain asked, raising his eyebrows, one of them disappearing under his fringe. “Or is it for you?”


	94. Nametsu + after the match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr: "The bus ride back home isn't silent, and she thinks this is a good sign." 22/5/16

The bus ride back home isn’t silent, and she thinks this is a good sign. This means they can snap back quickly, move past it before they really notice anything has gone wrong. Nametsu is sitting at the front of the bus, and she knows that if she looks over her shoulder she’ll become part of the sound, so she keeps her face forward, her eyes closed.

 

So, they lost. They’ve lost before, before she was their manager, and they’ll lose again, after she is gone. And with the noises that flow towards her, surrounding her in a sea of voices and laughter, she knows it won’t matter—so long as they keep growing.


	95. Futakuchi + spreadsheets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on tumblr: "I knew you'd be against it," Futakuchi has the sheer audacity to say, "so I made a spreadsheet for you." 28/5/16

“I knew you’d be against it,” Futakuchi has the sheer audacity to say, “so I made a spreadsheet for you.”

 

Onagawa is quietly of the opinion that their new training regime still won’t fly with the team, but he is a masochist—the only way he can explain how much time he spends around Futakuchi—so he signals for him to keep going.

 

Koganegawa, though, is not so tactful, and he says, “How can a spreadsheet prove that we need all these extra hours of practice?”

 

“It’s so we actually have a shot at Nationals next year,” Onagawa says, impatient.

 

“Oh,” Futakuchi says, “but that’s where you’re wrong. I have taken the liberty of itemising every incident over the last two years where my sour gummies have been purloined, and taken note of the culprit on each occasion—but since I’m such a benevolent captain, I won’t hold it against you, if you won’t hold the extra training against me.”


	96. Iwaoi + reptiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [SASO2015](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/4049.html?thread=902865#cmt902865). 5/6/15

The reason that Hajime is not browsing the relationships section of the classifieds is the same reason as it is every week, every Sunday when he's had a cup of coffee and a healthy breakfast and jogged around the block to come home to the newspaper on his doorstep. That reason is, despite what his friends are telling him, that he is _not_ looking for a relationship, that he's _happy_ being single for now, thank you very much. He's been quite happy living on his own and with his pet gecko Hatori—only Hatori is no longer of this Earthly plane, and now Hajime is on a Reptile Quest, scouring the pet section of the classifieds— _not_ the relationship section—for _any_ sort of reptile.  
  
For three weeks—nothing. And now, suddenly, there's an ad for _sixteen reptiles_ :  
  
_Yaho~!_ it opens, and then goes on to detail the owner's messy break-up with their girlfriend, their impulsive purchase, and the different ways their flatmates have threatened to dispose of them and their new reptilian friends. They write that they have a ball python, seven different geckos, a bearded dragon, and two red slider turtles—which is only ten, and Hajime's scared to find out what the other six might be—all named Amanda.  
  
Hajime feels like responding to this ad might be comparable to stepping on a landmine, but there are _seven_ geckos. Surely the owner might not mind if Hajime only bought one? At this stage, he was getting desperate, and he'd pay good money for a reptile in his life.  
  
The ad says the owner's residence is in Sendai, and there's an email address. Hajime opens up his laptop and types out an email.  
  
Minutes later, there's a reply. Hours later, Hajime finds himself on a train with an empty reptile habitat clutched in his arms. People are giving him weird looks. _It's okay_ , he thinks, _I'm only getting one reptile. Not sixteen_.  
  
When he gets to the flat, address written in smudgy ballpoint on the back of his hand, he puts his habitat down by the wall and rings the doorbell. It's a fairly affluent part of town, actually, and these are nice flats. Hajime feels a bit out of place in his jeans and joggers.  
  
A tall guy with short-cropped light hair opens the door. "Are you here for the Amandas?" he asks.  
  
"Just one Amanda," Hajime says. "I mean—a gecko. Just a gecko."  
  
The man at the door pulls a face. "I was so hoping you'd be taking all of them."  
  
"That's alright," another man says—this one's even taller, with messy black hair. "One less just means we only have to think of fifteen ways to ruin Oikawa's life."  
  
There's a piteous whine from somewhere inside the flat, and a small, sniffly voice says, "I _can_ hear you, Mattsun." Hajime figures that the voice belongs to the person who thought that impulse-buying sixteen reptiles after a break-up was a good idea.  
  
"Um," Hajime says, as the two at the door start laughing between themselves, "can I come in and see the geckos?"  
  
"You have to call them Amanda," the first guy says.  
  
"That's right," the other one says. "If you don't, Oikawa cries."  
  
"That's _not true_!" Oikawa wails. He is quite clearly crying.  
  
Hajime frowns. He doesn't know how Oikawa's weird flatmates are keeping such straight faces through all this. Still, they step aside to let Hajime into the flat. It's spacious and pristine, decked out with modern furniture and a tv the size of Hajime's shower. All this slips by his notice, however, because his attention is drawn to the _sixteen reptile habitats_ stacked on a light blue leather couch.  
  
"Holy _shit_ ," Hajime says. "This is—this is practically a zoo."  
  
A hand snakes over the edge of a second couch, back to Hajime. This must be Oikawa.  
  
"You're here for Amanda?" Oikawa asks.  
  
"That's right," Hajime says.  
  
Only, now that he's here— _physically_ here, and not just dubiously eyeballing an ad in the pet section of the classifieds—well, there are seven geckos, a bearded dragon, two red slider turtles, three corn snakes, a green anole, two toads, _and a ball python_. Hajime has always been fond of reptiles—it's why he chose to keep a gecko as a pet in the first place. But this is different.  
  
This is love at first sight.  
  
"Oikawa-san, is it?" Hajime asks.  
  
(He lives in a small flat. He doesn't have room for sixteen reptiles.)  
  
"Just Oikawa is fine," says the hand waving around above the edge of the couch. "You're Iwaizumi?"  
  
(He could put the toads in the same habitat. The corn snakes could share until they got bigger. Some of the geckos wouldn't mind sharing, right?)  
  
"Right," Hajime says. "So, how much for Amand—for one of the geckos?"  
  
"Oops, he broke the rules," one of Oikawa's flatmates comments. Hajime ignores him.  
  
(Never mind space, he can't _afford_ sixteen reptiles. He only came here for a gecko.)  
  
"Fuck it," Hajime says, better judgement aside. "How much for the lot?"  
  
At that, Oikawa's head pops up over the edge of the couch in a flash. " _All_ of them?"  
  
Oikawa, as it turns out, would probably be incredibly good-looking if it weren't for the bird's nest hair and the snot and tear tracks streaking his face. That, and the practically _diabolical_ grin on his face, which seems like it almost reaches up to his manic wide eyes.  
  
"Yeah," Hajime says. He can barely believe the words leaving his mouth as he says, "I work as a vet and I've got lots of experience with reptiles. I'd have to come back with my car, but—"  
  
"Iwaizumi, are you stupid?" Oikawa asks.  
  
Hajime is mometarily stunned into silence. "Um... ?"  
  
"Did you read the ad?" Oikawa continues. "I said _no rehoming fee_."  
  
"Shit," Hajime says. "I mean, that's—"  
  
Oikawa's flatmates cackle somewhere behind him. "Oh, this is too good," one of them says.  
  
"It's like one of those weird stories you read on the internet, where you're like, how could this happen to real people?" the other says.  
  
Oikawa narrows his eyes at the space behind Hajime. "Why are Makki and Mattsun so cruel to me? What have I done to deserve this?"  
  
Hajime turns around just in time to catch the tail end of some very crude hand gestures. When he turns back, Oikawa has a finger pulling down under his eye and his tongue sticking out.  
  
"Can you take me with you too?" Oikawa asks.  
  
Hajime glances between the reptiles, the snickering flatmates, the gross guy on the couch, the fancy furniture, back to the reptiles—and back to Oikawa, strangely earnest despite everything.  
  
"I'll consider it," Hajime says.  
  
(His friends are going to laugh at him so hard when they find out that Hajime actually followed up an ad in the pet section of the classifieds—and came out the other end with a relationship.)


	97. Levyaku + "you just gestured to all of me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [SASO2015](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/4049.html?thread=1034705#cmt1034705). 12/6/15
> 
> Warning: brief mention of choking

On Lev's first day in the volleyball club, he introduces himself as the ace and immediately proves himself either painfully lacking in self-awareness or a shameless liar. The third years meet at lunch and try to pretend they're not worried about him by making puns with his name. Most of them are in English, because it's good practice for the assignment that's due next week. Kuroo imagines a tree with Lev growing from its branches, and Kai tells him that if he's going to make jokes like that he can just Lev.  
  
Next week, Morisuke hands in his English essay and finds himself with another assignment: teaching Lev to receive.  
  
"It makes sense," Kai says. "He needs to learn to receive, and you're the best we've got."  
  
"You're competent," Kuroo says, "and god knows he needs that in his life. It won't be for long, if his big talk is worth anything."  
  
Morisuke doesn't feel competent. In Lev's sixth week in the volleyball club, they're still going, staying late after practice. Lev is still calling him "Yaku-san," which is no less weird, especially given that Kuroo has all-but-officially abolished honorifics in the club, and given that everyone calls Lev by his first name—Lev insists, though. Lev insists on a lot of things, not all of which are reasonable. And he's still not making progress.  
  
(Morisuke is no less fond of him for it, and perhaps that's the worst part.)  
  
It's one evening in Lev's seventh week in the volleyball club, when they're finishing up in the gym, that he falls apart. Morisuke doesn't even see it coming—one minute, Lev is picking up balls with his usual dutifulness, and the next, he's slumped down beneath the net, lying on his back.  
  
"Yaku-san, what's wrong with me?"  
  
And Morisuke doesn't know how to respond to that, because he can't count the number of times he's thought to himself, _what's wrong with Lev_? It's guilt that drives him to crouch down next to Lev, but it's compassion that forces him to speak.  
  
"There's nothing wrong with you," he says.  
  
Lev sits up and pulls his knees in to his chest. "Then why aren't my receives getting better?"  
  
"They are," Morisuke says. "It's just that—" He pauses, waves his hand up and down, from Lev's head to his feet.  
  
"You just gestured to _all of me_ ," Lev says, despondent and verging on offended.  
  
"I didn't mean it like that," Morisuke says quickly. "It's just that, there's so _much_ of you. There's a reason why most liberos are,"—he pauses, swallowing,—"short, like me."  
  
"Because you're closer to the ground!" Lev says. "I know. I just want to be good at it _so badly_. What's the point of an ace who's no good at receives?"  
  
(The point is that Lev can spike incredibly well when he's in the right mood, and that his blocks have improved so much, and his serves are fairly powerful—and maybe not everyone can be good at everything.)  
  
Midway through the year, they have their usual training camp, with Karasuno joining them for the first time. Lev's getting better, and he's getting on with the newcomers too. It isn't that Morisuke doesn't get on with people, or even that everyone thinks he's a grump with a short fuse so he doesn't bother making new friends anymore because they'll inevitably end up thinking he's a pain to be around, but there's something that gets to him about seeing Lev spending so much time with all of these people, some of whom Morisuke's known for years.  
  
It's only after training camp ends that he realises he was _jealous_.  
  
He's not going to think about it, though. It doesn't do well to dwell on these things, especially not when you can change them.  
  
One night, two weeks after training camp, Morisuke asks Lev if he wants to get dinner after their evening practice.  
  
Even though it's nothing unusual, there's a gleefully scandalised look on Lev's face. They get yakisoba across the road and sit under the blossom trees on school grounds—it's not very romantic; the leaves have all fallen off in preparation for winter.  
  
And out of the blue, Lev says, "I'm glad we're friends."  
  
Morisuke nearly chokes on his noodles. "What makes you say that?" he asks. He sort of doesn't want to know the answer.  
  
Lev grins back at him. There's something green stuck between his teeth. "Well, even though you were just teaching me to receive because Kuroo-san asked you to, you still want to hang out with me. And I think that's cool, even if I don't really understand why."  
  
The way Lev will say whatever he's thinking without bothering to filter it for anything embarrassing first is sort of spectacular. Morisuke tries to frown at him. He fails.  
  
"You really don't understand?" he asks.  
  
Lev shakes his head.  
  
Morisuke waves a hand around. "You know," he says. It's too vague. He's not impressed with himself.  
  
"I don't," Lev says, "but like I said—that's fine."  
  
( _Next time_ , Morisuke tells himself. Next time he'll say it out loud, properly. Next time maybe he'll understand what exactly he's been trying to say.)  
  
Two weeks before Morisuke graduates, he stops by volleyball practice for the last time. It's odd without the other third years there, but Morisuke's always been close with the underclassmen. If he wasn't used to it, he'd be a little bit terrified by so many tall people flocking around him. As it is, he finds it more comforting than anything.  
  
"It's kind of weird without you," Shibayama tells him. Morisuke wonders if that's only because he's their starting libero now.  
  
"It's exhausting," Kenma says. He doesn't need to say much more—Morisuke remembers what it was like when the third years left in his second year, with the weight of responsibility handed down and passed around like it should have been easy, which it wasn't.  
  
"What do you miss most?" Lev asks.  
  
"You know," Morisuke says, gesturing with a wave in Lev's direction.  
  
Lev notices. "Did you gesture to all of me again?"  
  
The pride in his voice is hard to miss. Morisuke can't believe Lev remembered that, from so long ago.  
  
"That's just silly," Inuoka says. "He means all of us."  
  
"He was just waving a hand around," Shibayama says. "He means the club."  
  
Lev pulls a face, and Morisuke wishes that there wasn't a good thirty centimetres between them, because he wants to look Lev in the eye and tell him that he's right, that Morisuke _did_ just gesture to all of him, because as much as he loves volleyball, sometimes he's so unbearably fond of Lev that he wants to scream it, wants to yell it at the top of his voice, wants to paint it on the walls of the gym.  
  
Instead, he purposefully doesn't respond.  
  
(Two weeks later, just after Morisuke's graduation, he finally says it.)


	98. Ennofuta + "the law of attraction"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [SASO2015](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/4049.html?thread=1066193#cmt1066193). 13/6/15

One confidentiality agreement and a few awkward handshakes later, Futakuchi can finally stop to take in everything that's happened in the six months since he submitted his thesis. He's in a Michelin-starred restaurant with Japan's best and brightest, surrounded by faces he can put to names he's seen on Nature papers and cited over and again in his bibliography. Not bad for someone still getting used to writing "Doctor" next to his name.  
  
Since he started working on this project, he's been steering clear of the bigger names. There's something about particle physicists that makes him a little bit jumpy—maybe it's that they all have an intuitive understanding of the sort of high-level maths that has literally reduced Futakuchi to tears, or maybe it's that in his experience, the smarter you are the worse you are at socialising. So it's just his luck that he's been seated next to wunderkind Ennoshita Chikara, pre-eminent theoretical physicist and doctor since twenty-one.  
  
It's probably because they're roughly the same age that someone thought it would be an honour for Futakuchi, and not the slap in the face that it actually is. They've met a couple of times while Futakuchi was working on the detector for the particle accelerator which Ennoshita and his collaborators used for their latest experiment, but he's not sure if Ennoshita remembers him.  
  
"I don't think we've been introduced," Ennoshita says, confirming Futakuchi's suspicions. He waits until the entrées have been ordered to even consider starting a conversation—typical stuffy physicist, not that Futakuchi could say that properly without feeling like a hypocrite.  
  
He steels himself for a long night. "Futakuchi Kenji," he says.  
  
"Of course," Ennoshita says, "you were the fifteenth name on the paper."  
  
"And not the last," Futakuchi says, before Ennoshita can say something weird and probably unintentionally belittling from his place as second co-author.  
  
"I never implied that," Ennoshita says. "What was your role in the collaboration?"  
  
Futakuchi takes a deep breath. "I designed and helped to build the detector."  
  
"Oh, an engineer, then," Ennoshita says.  
  
" _Instrumentation_ ," Futakuchi corrects through clenched teeth.  
  
Ennoshita shrugs. "To be honest, I haven't actually read past the abstract. I only know the bits I contributed to."  
  
That, Futakuchi had not been expecting. "Doesn't seem very professional," he says.  
  
"What did you expect?" Ennoshita asks. "I don't know how long you've been a physicist, but unless you actually write or review a paper, you don't have much more than a superficial connection to it."  
  
"Right," Futakuchi says. He kind of respects Ennoshita's bluntness. It's refreshing, after dealing with so much obfuscation from higher-ups. "So do you know _anyone_ here?"  
  
"Most of them," Ennoshita says, reaching across the table to pour himself some saké.  
  
Futakuchi slumps a bit. He's still the odd one out, and sitting beside a genius makes him feel it even more acutely. Still, he and Ennoshita are definitely the youngest people there, and Futakuchi thinks that solidarity ought to count for something.  
  
"Okay," Futakuchi says, "let's play a game. You point to an academic and I'll tell you what sort of nefariousness I think they get up to in their spare time."  
  
"I don't know them _that_ well," Ennoshita says. "Your guess is as good as mine."  
  
"We'll both play, then," Futakuchi says. He gestures at an elderly man down the table. "What about him?"  
  
"Writes erotic fiction," Ennoshita says. "Every male lead is an unlikely hero, a quiet guy who'd be more at home in a lab than on the cover of a magazine. He's been writing these novels for years, because he's never found love himself and uses fiction as an outlet for his fantasies."  
  
"That's elaborate," Futakuchi comments.  
  
Ennoshita quirks a smile. "Every scientist has a hobby. Storytelling is mine." He looks down the other end of the table. "How about him?"  
  
Futakuchi takes a moment to think. "He crochets underwear. Really weird and twee stuff, too, like elephant cock socks—"  
  
"You can't say 'cock socks' in a Michelin-starred restaurant!" Ennoshita whispers.  
  
"—and," Futakuchi continues, "he's less ashamed of what he makes than he is that he makes it in the first place."  
  
"Interesting," Ennoshita says. "I actually know him; he works in my department. I think he likes gardening in his spare time, but I'm not sure."  
  
"So you picked him because you knew I'd get the wrong answer?" Futakuchi asks. That's kind of sly. He'd be lying if he said it didn't make him a little bit hot under the collar.  
  
"Maybe," Ennoshita says, a hint of deliberate mystery in his voice. "Anyway, your turn."  
  
Futakuchi looks up and down the table. On the far end, the first entrées are starting to arrive.  
  
He points a finger to his own chest. "Me. What do you think my secret shame is?"  
  
Ennoshita's quite obviously fighting a smile. "Hard to tell," he says. "You work in instrumentation, and if you have time to design a detector then you probably don't have much spare time."  
  
"Hey!" Futakuchi says, barely even noticing as some food is placed in front of him. "It was my PhD thesis. Of course I devoted all my time to it."  
  
"That's pretty impressive," Ennoshita says—and he _sounds_ genuine. "Hmm. I think you don't have any strange hobbies. I think your secret is that you're actually a bit boring."  
  
Futakuchi is, just for a moment, too stunned to respond. Ennoshita takes that moment and runs with it.  
  
"What about me?" he asks. "What's my deal?"  
  
Now, though, Futakuchi knows what he wants to say. "I think you tell stories."  
  
"That's not fair," Ennoshita says. "I told you that."  
  
"Wait, I'm not done," Futakuchi says. "I think you've been spinning me a story all night. I _know_ we've met before, when I was working on the detector, and I don't buy that you didn't remember me. I think your dirty secret is that you've been fantasising about meeting me properly ever since then, and that you arranged to sit next to me tonight just so you could chat me up."  
  
Futakuchi stops to take a deep breath. He's pretty proud of himself for working all that out, but he wonders if maybe he's crossed a line by putting all his cards on the table too soon.  
  
Ennoshita is silent for a moment, a blush forming on his face. "You're only half-right," he says eventually. "When I found out that one of the co-authors on the paper was my age, I requested that he—that you be seated next to me at this dinner. I didn't know your name, though, and I didn't want this to get weird before it had even started, so I introduced myself like normal."  
  
"So you haven't been fantasising about chatting me up for months?" Futakuchi asks, grinning.  
  
"Not for months," Ennoshita says.  
  
Futakuchi raises his eyebrows. "That's a bit vague," he says.  
  
"Just minutes," Ennoshita says, completing his last thought. "Don't look so confused—you're a scientist. I believe you are aware of the law of attraction, Doctor Futakuchi."  
  
Futakuchi's mouth drops open. "Did you just flirt with me using a Jurassic Park quote?"  
  
Ennoshita doesn't meet his eye, turning to his entrée with a smile. "I'm impressed you picked up on that, actually."  
  
"I'm just impressed," Futakuchi says. "You know, for a theoretical physicist, you're pretty smooth."  
  
"That's a backhanded way of saying it," Ennoshita says. "Still, now that you're in the field—I presume you're looking for a postdoctoral position."  
  
"Something like that," Futakuchi says. "Will you put in a good word for me?"  
  
"I'll consider it," Ennoshita said. "What I was actually going to ask if you'd consider joining a collaboration I have in the works."  
  
"Is this still about physics, or are you talking about—"  
  
The word "sex" dies on Futakuchi's tongue in favour of something more tasteful.  
  
"—or are you flirting again?"  
  
Ennoshita turns back, giving Futakuchi an amused look. "A bit of both," he says.  
  
"Well, we could probably do some great particle physics together," Futakuchi says, "but we might get better results starting with the law of attraction."


	99. Ennofuta + firsts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [SASO2015](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/5902.html?thread=2169358#cmt2169358). 13/7/15

**5**

The first time they meet is at a practice match. Ennoshita is prepared for Datekou’s captain to be obnoxious—he’d seen Futakuchi on court before, taunting his opponents, and off court, joking with his team. Ennoshita comes to the gym preparing to be frustrated, preparing to have to stay on his best behaviour and keep his teammates from getting too riled up.

And Futakuchi is everything Ennoshita expected—he’s crass, outspoken, clasps a bit too hard when he shakes Ennoshita’s hand before the match, spikes a bit too hard when he knows Ennoshita is watching. He doesn’t need to try so hard to impress Ennoshita. Datekou are good, and Futakuchi’s their ace, one of the pillars of the team. Ennoshita is already plenty impressed.

Futakuchi is also nothing like what Ennoshita expected. He pulls Ennoshita aside after the match, making him linger as he digs around in his bag.

“You guys played well,” Futakuchi says, not looking up from his bag. “I knew you would be good, but I was impressed.”

“You still won,” Ennoshita points out.

Futakuchi looks up briefly, catching Ennoshita’s eye before looking away again. “Hmm, so you think we played better?”

“Volleyball is pretty objective,” Ennoshita says.

“Sure, sure,” Futakuchi says, laughing. “I’m a better wing spiker than you, that’s an objective statement.”

“Well, if you want to put it in those terms—”

“I’m a better captain, too,” Futakuchi continues. “I must be, given I’ve been doing it for longer than you.”

“That’s flawed logic,” Ennoshita says, unable to stop his mouth from hanging open a bit. “Things like captaincy aren’t—”

“Ah!” Futakuchi interrupts. “Found it!”

He produces his phone from his bag. “Can I get your number?”

Ennoshita stares at him.

“I may be a better captain than you,” Futakuchi continues, “but I guess we’ve still got a lot we can learn from each other, or something like that. Plus, you seem like the sort of person who likes going out and partying. We could do that too.”

“Is that sarcasm?” Ennoshita asks.

Futakuchi grins. “I’ll just have to find out.”

 

 

**4**

The first time they hang out, Futakuchi stays true to his word about partying. Well, they’re still underage, so they can’t go anywhere too exciting, but Futakuchi’s been invited to a friend’s birthday party and he invites Ennoshita along.

It’s a fair distance from Ennoshita’s house, so his mum offers to drive him—this, of course, is just something else for Futakuchi to tease him about.

“I _still_ can’t believe you got your mum to drive you to a party,” he says for the hundredth time. “Like, anyone would think you’re seven, not seventeen.”

“It’s been two hours,” Ennoshita says. “Aren’t you over it yet?”

“As it turns out,” Futakuchi says, “my other friends aren’t anywhere near as interesting as you. If I have to make the same joke for two hours—”

“That desperate for my company?” Ennoshita jokes.

Futakuchi frowns. “Nah, you’re actually pretty boring too. I’m just desperate for any company.”

By now, after all the texts Futakuchi’s sent him, Ennoshita is used to this sort of teasing. “That’s fine,” he says. “I’m only putting up with you because I felt like going to a party. But I could think of better things we could be doing.”

“Oh my god,” Futakuchi says, “are you flirting with me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ennoshita says. “I ditched some new DVDs that came in the mail for this. It’s letting me down.”

They’re sitting in the corner of the room on a chair that’s just big enough for the two of them to fit in side-by-side, so Futakuchi jostles a bit as he moves to get his phone out of his pocket.

“Hold on,” he says, “I’ll call my mum to pick us up, and we can catch a film or two at my place.”

Ennoshita’s jaw drops as Futakuchi fiddles with his phone, completely oblivious to his own hypocrisy.

He really is frustrating—but, somehow Ennoshita feels that backing out of this friendship now would be the wrong move to make. So, he lets Futakuchi’s mum pick them up, lets Futakuchi pick out the films that evening. He goes along with it—if only just to see what happens.

 

 

**3**

The first time they go to a film together, properly, and not just watching from one of their beds with a laptop, Futakuchi insists on sitting right up the front. Ennoshita hates sitting up the front—he’s convinced that he’s actually short-sighted and just hasn’t mentioned it to anyone, and being too close to the screen is probably ruining his eyes even further.

“It makes sense that you’re the sort of person who sits up the front, though,” he says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Futakuchi asks, tossing a bit of popcorn into the side of Ennoshita’s head.

“Case in point,” Ennoshita says.

“Man, you’re no fun,” Futakuchi says, aiming for his mouth with the next bit of popcorn. It misses, rolling down his face and into the cup-holder on his seat’s arm.

The ads start rolling, and Ennoshita gets out his phone. He’s never interested in ads in the cinema. Futakuchi, though, seems to know half the ads by heart, whispering along with them. It’s kind of obnoxious, but also kind of sweet. Ennoshita gets distracted texting, though, and almost misses it when someone leans forward from the row behind them and taps Futakuchi on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” the person, an elderly man, says, “I hope you’re not going to talk all the way through the movie.”

“Excuse _me_ ,” Futakuchi scoffs.

“And I hope you’ll put your phone away,” the man says, addressing Ennoshita.

“Sorry,” Ennoshita says, not meeting the man’s gaze, “I’ll be done in a—”

“No way,” Futakuchi says, grabbing Ennoshita’s wrist before he can put his phone away, “it’s just the ads.”

The man looks affronted. “How dare you talk back to me, young man!”

“Quite easily,” Futakuchi says. “What’re you going to do, call the cops on me?”

“Who do you think you are?” the man asks.

Futakuchi gets a glint in his eyes, digging his fingers tighter into Ennoshita’s arm. “Do you know who I am?” he asks.

Ennoshita’s eyes go wide, and he gapes at Futakuchi.

“That’s it,” the man says, getting a clunky old phone out of his pocket. “I’m calling the—”

“Shit!” Futakuchi yelps, leaping to his feet, knocking over his popcorn and dragging Ennoshita with him. “Let’s run!”

Ennoshita, unfortunately, doesn’t need to be told twice, and shakes off Futakuchi’s hand as they run for the exit.

“Next time,” Futakuchi says, when they’re gasping for breath a few blocks away, “we’ll sit up the back.”

 

 

**2**

The first time they sit through a whole film at the cinema, Futakuchi has his girlfriend Saitou with him. Ennoshita’s kind of pissed off about it, because they’ve only been dating for a month, and this film night has been in the works since they were still in high school. Now, they’re juggling university assignments, and Futakuchi barely gets time to see his girlfriend outside of class, so he’s dragged her out tonight.

Saitou doesn’t seem to mind, though, so Ennoshita puts on his best brave face and tells himself not to be stupid about it. It’s just a movie, after all, and Futakuchi’s sitting between them, so Ennoshita can sort of pretend she’s not there and that he’s not a petty idiot.

And this time, they sit up the back.

Ennoshita’s got a bad habit of chatting during films, pointing out things about the cinematography, but Futakuchi doesn’t really mind. Halfway through, though, he goes oddly silent.

“—and when the lighting’s like that—Futakuchi?”

“Oh my gosh,” Saitou whispers, “he’s _asleep_.”

“Must be all those assignments catching up on him,” Ennoshita jokes.

“He’s a baby,” Saitou says. “Why do you even put up with him?”

“Why do you put up with him?” Ennoshita asks.

Saitou shrugs. “We were already friends. Some of our friends in physics thought we’d make a good couple, so we just went with it.”

“Makes sense,” Ennoshita says.

He’s about to say something else, but the dead weight of Futakuchi’s head drops onto his shoulder, and Ennoshita feels his expression slip into one he’s familiar with, the look he gets on his face whenever Futakuchi does something ridiculous and frustrating like this. Ennoshita doesn’t even bother to shake him off this time.

Saitou laughs, causing some people to turn around at glare at them. “That must be uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, well,” Ennoshita says, “I’ve been stuck with him for a while.”

“Yikes,” Saitou says. “At least I can ditch him whenever I want.”

 

 

**1**

The first time they go on a date, it’s by accident, and it almost doesn’t occur to Ennoshita that it’s a date at all.. Futakuchi was meant to be going out for dinner with Saitou, but, true to her word, she’s ditched him. And he doesn’t seem too fussed about it, Futakuchi’s hamming it up, which is presumably why he calls Ennoshita to come to the dinner reservation with him instead.

“I don’t know how I’m going to move on from her,” Futakuchi moans into his dessert.

“Five minutes ago you said you were happy to ‘play the field’ again,” Ennoshita points out. “Make up your mind.”

Futakuchi grins. “Do you think I’m being too dramatic?”

“I _always_ think you’re too dramatic,” Ennoshita says. “I’m used to it. Anyway, Saitou texted me—she said you were fine about it.”

“Well,” Futakuchi says, “that’s whatever. Are you really going to take her side of the story over mine?”

“Yes,” Ennoshita says plainly.

“You wound me!” Futakuchi says. “I don’t know how to move on with my life, Ennoshita.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Ennoshita asks.

“I wonder,” Futakuchi says. “Maybe—no, that’s stupid.”

Ennoshita frowns. “Go on.”

Futakuchi laughs. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s quite clearly _not_ nothing,” Ennoshita says, beginning to get a bit frustrated, “if you keep—”

“Fine, fine,” Futakuchi says. This is obviously what he’d been angling for, though. He leans forward, resting his chin in his hands. “I was just thinking, maybe, you could _help_ me move on with my life.”

Ennoshita gives him a look. Futakuchi is a pathetic flirt. He’s obnoxious and annoying in a lot of ways, but perhaps it’s his flirting that takes the—

“Oh my god,” Ennoshita says, “are we on a date?”

 

 

**0**

The first time they go on a _proper_ date, it’s been raining and the streets are wet, and Futakuchi insists on holding the umbrella, “Just in case, Chikara!”

They haven’t really _done_ anything yet, haven’t called it anything, but they spend more time together now, staying up later than usual, watching movies and falling asleep in each other’s dorms on each other’s beds. Today, though—the night before, Futakuchi had said they should go on a _proper_ date, and Ennoshita had found himself agreeing despite every sense telling him it was a terrible idea.

It’s actually not a bad idea at all. Dating Futakuchi is almost the same as hanging out with him. He’s just as annoying, just as rude to strangers, full of just as many sharp remarks. Except he holds Ennoshita’s hand, and half the time instead of having a response on the tip of his tongue, he just smiles.

And when all of a sudden he wraps an arm around Ennoshita’s waist and yanks him away from the edge of the pavement, Ennoshita struggles to find an explanation until a bus speeds past and splashes a sheet of water right where they’d just been standing.

“Phew,” Futakuchi says, leaving his arm around Ennoshita, “just in time.”

Ennoshita cranes his neck a bit to see Futakuchi’s face, and when he does, he melts a bit. He can feel a similar look on his own face, one he’s not used to, at least not around Futakuchi. And his heart is beating twice as fast, almost leaping out of his chest with something like fondness.

“Oh,” he says, “I guess I like you after all.”

“Naturally,” Futakuchi says, pulling his arm away to put his hands on his hips. “What’s not to like about me? I’m handsome, smart, athletic—”

Now, Ennoshita feels the more familiar expression of annoyance and disbelief on his face. “I take it back,” he says. “You’re horrid.”

Futakuchi hums. “But you like me.”

“Yeah,” Ennoshita. “I do.”

 


	100. Kagehina + "nothing"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [SASO2015](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/5902.html?view=2306574&posted=1#cmt2306574). 24/7/15

Tobio doesn't make a habit of staying up late, reading things on the internet. Actually, he doesn't make a habit of reading things on the internet, full stop. He hasn't trusted online information ever since his first year of middle school, when he found an article on volleyball that completely confused the different types of quick spikes. But for something he knows nothing about—well, the internet is as good a place to start as any, given that the other option is asking one of his upperclassmen for advice, and that is _not_ an option.  
  


> > **how to tell someone you like them**
> 
> About 379,000,000 results (0.38 seconds)

  
  
He clicks on the first page: it's a list of ways to confess to someone. This is what he'd been looking for—something better than the Wikipedia page for romance, and more straightforward than messaging Sugawara-san.  
  


> **1\. Give them chocolates**

  
  
Tobio imagines presenting Hinata with a box of chocolates. What would Hinata do with them? He doesn't even like chocolate that much. He's more excited by pork buns and icy poles. And Tobio doesn't think you're allowed to confess to people with pork buns.  
  


> **2\. Write a love letter**

  
  
And given that Tobio's life is a history of near-fails in Japanese class, that's definitely out of the question. What would he even write to Hinata in a love letter? _Dear Dumbass, go out with me_?  
  
Or would he pretend to be a secret admirer? He could make the letter mysterious, only hint at his true identity... but Hinata's so dense he probably wouldn't get it. And if he worked out it was from Tobio, what then? He'd think it was a joke.  
  
The list goes on and on, and as the suggestions get increasingly ridiculous, Tobio feels himself getting increasingly desperate. He's about to close the tab and try one of the other 379,000,000 results, but then he hits the end of the list.  
  


> **15\. Just tell them!**

  
  
That could work. People are always telling Tobio he's too blunt, but maybe he could make that work in his favour. He could just tell Hinata right now, or even better—  
  
Hinata's not signed in to skype, so Tobio lines him.  
  


> (11:33) **tobio** : hey are you there  
> (11:35) **SHOUYOU!!** : HEy sory yep im hree!!!  
> (11:35) **SHOUYOU!!** : wats up  
> (11:35) **tobio** : nm just wondering how youd tell someone you like them  
> (11:36) **SHOUYOU!!** : ............  
> (11:36) **SHOUYOU!!** : DOEs KAGEYAMA HAE A CRSUH?!  
> (11:37) **tobio** : shut up  
> (11:37) **tobio** : im asking for a friend  
> (11:37) **SHOUYOU!!** : is it yamaguvhi  
> (11:37) **tobio** : why would i tell you  
> (11:38) **SHOUYOU!!** : wwww of coursenot  
> (11:38) **SHOUYOU!!** : why are u askign me tho??  
> (11:39) **SHOUYOU!!** : u kno ive nevre dated  
> (11:39) **tobio** : i know  
> (11:39) **SHOUYOU!!** : liek i wish i coudkl help ur firned but im  
> (11:39) **SHOUYOU!!** : !?!??!?!??! u feel  
> (11:40) **tobio** : yeah  
> (11:40) **tobio** : it doesnt matter  
> (11:40) **SHOUYOU!!** : hgold on holy on!!!  
> (11:41) **SHOUYOU!!** : i think  
> (11:41) **SHOUYOU!!** : if u r ffriend has such a bih cruhs  
> (11:41) **SHOUYOU!!** : tjey shoulfd just telk then??  
> (11:43) **tobio** : thanks hinata  
> (11:43) **SHOUYOU!!** : ????//??/?

  
  
Tobio needs another approach. In the end, he's up well past midnight scrolling through page after page of search results.  
  


> > **how to tell your maybe best friend that you like them**
> 
> About 184,000,000 results (0.50 seconds)

  
  
And the next day, even though he's exhausted, he still makes it to early volleyball practice—of course, he wouldn't miss it for the world. Hinata's always early too, and Tobio finds him and tries to get a moment to talk to him alone.  
  
Hinata is rarely alone. He's like a magnet, drawing people in around him. Tobio hates that he's one of those people who's been drawn in.  
  
After all that, Tobio can only find a moment alone with Hinata once they're done changing. He tries his best to look normal, stay calm, but as he gets ready to confess his words die on his throat and his mouth goes dry.  
  
"What... ?" Hinata asks, narrowing his eyes at Tobio.  
  
Tobio gulps. It's now or never.  
  
"Nothing," he says, turning his back and walking away at an inconspicuous pace.  
  
That's never, then.


	101. Ushioi + pool boy AU, epistolary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [SASO2015](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/7182.html?thread=2748942#cmt2748942). 21/8/15
> 
> Warnings: sexual references
> 
> I had to be tipsy before I could bring myself to write this

IWA-CHAN!!! sorry for not writing for a while—things have been BUSY here ;) ;) ;)  
  
ok but really i know u love my long emails so i’ll tell you ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING—from when it started, i arrived here about a week ago, fresh-faced and eager-eyed, plucky & ready for a sun tan. i know it’s far from glamorous, cleaning the pool, at least that’s the impression you get when you read the ad—WANTED! maintenance staff for olympic swimming pool, cash money $$$—but life is what you make it, iwa-chan, and i have made my life quite excellent indeed.  
  
i didn’t know anything about the guy who owns this house—reclusive businessman, made his millions at a young age, retired from the public eye, so i didn’t really know what to expect. faded twink? sloppy nerd? obnoxious lad? as it turns out, none of the above, actually—but i’ll get to ushiwaka-chan in a minute—  
  
first!! the HOUSE! remember when we studied pride and prejudice in third year english, and that scene where elizabeth goes to mr. darcy’s house for the first time and she’s like WHOA!!! SHIT!!!!! because it’s so FANCY and she’s like damn maybe i do want to make the nasty with him after all—well, when i saw this mansion for the first time, i didn’t care what ushiwaka-chan looked like, i knew i wanted to spend my life living in this luxury. it’s only three stories, but there’s a massive wine cellar in the basement, and attics on either wing of the house, and the whole property is however many acres—a LOT—done up with surprisingly un-phallic topiary all around, and then at the back, the pool i’d be cleaning.  
  
my rooms are in the east wing of the house, quiet, far away from ushiwaka-chan’s large suite—you can guess how i know where his rooms are ;)—but with a good view of the pool. every morning at 5 i get up to do a sweep of the pool, then sleep until 10, and i’m back at the pool by 5 in the afternoon to clean up again. the real joke is that ushiwaka-chan is barely ever in the pool. it’s just there to look pretty—like me, i suppose.  
  
the first time i saw ushiwaka-chan, it was twilight, and i had just finished cleaning the pool. the sun was going down, and i remember the sunset perfectly—shades of orange, pink, purple, stripes across the sky, low cloud, and you could just see a few stars. i was wearing my mint shorts and flip-flops and—well, not much else, and i felt very ~alluring~, the epitome of beauty—and just like the night, how could anyone not notice such glimmering perfection? (i had done my hair extra well that morning, as i’d taken to doing every morning, just in case)  
  
from the back door to the house, down the stairs, he emerged, his hand trailing down the railing like that scene in the great gatsby—which, by the way, iwa-chan, was an A+++ movie despite not matching the book, i STILL don’t care what you think—only he wasn’t in a fancy suit, he was wearing a burgundy silk bathrobe, chest hair showing before the two sides met, tied together with a loose sash, gold chain around his neck, metallic gold leather weaving around his designer loafers—iwa-chan, i had the extravagant mansion, the shimmering pool, the sunset, and yet there was no more glorious sight than the reclusive millionaire whose pool i had been tending.  
  
the first words he said to me were, “how did you get in here?”—and i had to explain to him that he’d hired me to clean his pool, and he explained that he doesn’t actually manage his staff, he has a head of staff who hires and fires and all that—i asked if he was pleased with his head of staff’s choice ;)—he remarked straightforwardly that the pool had been especially clean of late. i know what you’re thinking, iwa-chan, it all sounds so MUNDANE, doesn’t it? well, it was. but it got better, i promise!!!  
  
he started coming out more, spending more time lounging around the pool, sometimes in nothing but the sort of swimmers which leave NOTHING to the imagination, and i found myself thinking, well, he didn’t need to be good at conversation for me to get him out of those swimmers and into my life. so, i worked at the conversation, insinuated myself into his personal space, and before you know it! he was letting me into other parts of the house, showing me his volleyball collection (i am not joking by the way there is LITERALLY a room with the WALLS LINED WITH VOLLEYBALLS IWA-CHAN I WAS IN HEAVEN!!!) and his walk-in wardrobe—soooo many silk bathrobes—and this one room that was just couches, where i could imagine myself feeding him grapes, reclining over him on a chaise longue, picking the grapes one at a time and sliding them into his waiting mouth—AND THEN, FINALLY, he showed me his bedroom, and—  
  
—well, i don’t need to tell you what happened next ;)


	102. Ushimoni + meeting up again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on dreamwidth, [here](http://memorde.dreamwidth.org/2758.html). 6/9/15

In the end, after roughly six months of not seeing each other, it’s down to being in the right place at the right time. Kaname’s stranded under a flimsy awning in a part of Tokyo he’s quite certain didn’t exist last time he was here, flicking desperately through his contacts for _anyone_ , any local he knows. He’s about to give in and dial Futakuchi’s number, even though he’s quite certain Futakuchi is the sort to treat a rainy day with the attitude that running through the streets sans umbrella is a perfectly reasonable thing to do, when a shadow appears in the corner of his vision, and suddenly he’s just a little bit drier. 

“Kaname?”

Even after six months, even after over four years of a relationship conducted mostly in text messages and staticky skype calls, Kaname would recognise Wakatoshi’s voice anywhere. Looking up, he tries to come off a bit embarrassed, contrite, sorry that he’s making such a fool of himself. Wakatoshi is barely receptive to emotional appeals, though, so it’s lucky for Kaname that he’s already holding out his umbrella.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Ah,” Kaname says, “I got caught in the rain.”

“I mean in Tokyo,” Wakatoshi says.

Kaname can’t decide whether or not there’s an unspoken _why didn’t you tell me?_ “I had a job interview just now,” he says. “I was just applying to places in Sendai initially, but, well, the opportunity came up, so I—”

 _Stop rambling!_ he tells himself, but Wakatoshi’s face is impassive in patience, like he’d listen to whatever Kaname has to say. The handful of times they’ve met up in person, Wakatoshi’s always been like that, doesn’t interrupt—it’s one of the things Kaname’s always liked about him.

“—I’m sorry I didn’t tell you beforehand,” he says. “It was sort of short notice.”

“That’s alright,” Wakatoshi says. “Do you want to come back to my flat?”

Kaname almost chokes on air, but he knows that Wakatoshi is a forward sort, and practically a chessmaster with his knight’s move thinking, skipping from one idea to another with no evident connection. “You mean, to stay out of the rain?” Kaname asks.

Wakatoshi nods. “It’s nearby. I was just on the way home. You can wait out the storm.”

“T-thanks,” Kaname says. “I’d like that.”

And immediately, he berates himself for not saying something more neutral, like “That’s very kind of you,” and berates himself again for thinking that Wakatoshi cares. He doesn’t. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t see it as an obligation out of kindness, it’s just natural. Kaname supposes he’d do the same for anyone he—

—likes.

Whatever that word means.

They’re quiet on the walk to Wakatoshi’s apartment complex, standing almost uncomfortably close under Wakatoshi’s broad umbrella, which he has to hold high enough so that it doesn’t bump his impossibly stratospheric head, the unfortunate side effect of which is that Kaname _does_ get a bit wet, on top of how drenched he already was, despite everything. It’s a relief to get in through the glass doors and towards the lift with doors so shiny Kaname can almost-clearly see his reflection in them.

Wakatoshi folds up his umbrella as they wait for the lift. “I can lend you some clothes, if you like,” he says.

“That’d be silly,” Kaname says, laughing nervously, “you’re several sizes too big for me, I think. You can just lend me a towel.”

“That’s fine,” Wakatoshi says. “If you’re worried about looking silly, I can put your clothes in the drier and they’ll probably be dry by the time the rain stops.”

“Probably,” Kaname says weakly.

The lift arrives and, as he follows Wakatoshi in, Kaname starts to wonder why Wakatoshi didn’t offer to walk him to the nearest convenience store to buy a cheap umbrella, or to find him a spare umbrella in his flat at least—no, instead he offers to lend Kaname some clothes and put them in his drier. How much must he be paid to afford a drier at his age? Kaname forgets that Wakatoshi only did a three-year degree, so he’s got a head start in life, a career as a professional volleyball player, and, probably enough money for a drier too.

When they get to Wakatoshi’s flat, when the lift slips quietly to a stop, Kaname is overcome with a sudden, stupid bout of nerves. _Get a grip_ , he scolds himself. It’s just Wakatoshi. They’ve known each other for over four years. Wakatoshi has even crashed in Kaname’s dorm, on a few occasions when he was in Sendai overnight for some reason or other. Granted, Wakatoshi took the bed and Kaname took a few pillows and the floor, so nothing untoward ever happened, but there’s a history of tension on top of that, a history of hearts in text messages, which started roughly a year ago and completely by accident. There’s a history of something unspoken between them that Kaname steadfastly ignores when they’re just a high-speed train apart.

Being so close, though, bumping elbows as they play out the routine of _no, you first_ through the door, it’s hard to ignore.

Of course, there’s the _other_ way Kaname could play this. He could stop being nervous, stop tip-toeing around both of their feelings, start making it happen. He knows he’s more socially astute than Wakatoshi, knows that he can compare all six people he’s ever dated to Wakatoshi’s impressive zero, knows that it gives him the upper hand in this sort of scenario. Wakatoshi can offer Kaname all the clothes he likes, but at the end of the day, Kaname is the one holding the balance of power.

“What’s the job?” Wakatoshi asks, disappearing down a corridor. Kaname hears the sound of cupboard doors sliding open, hangers clinking together.

“Environmental consultant at an architectural firm,” he says. “It’s a very junior position, but the firm’s well-known, and I was lucky to get through to this round of interviews.”

Wakatoshi reappears holding immaculately folded clothes and a towel, slung over his arm like a waiter with a tray. “There’s no such thing as luck,” he says. “If you got there, it’s because you’re good at what you do.”

 _You can_ not _make me blush_ , Kaname thinks. “So it wasn’t luck that I got caught on the very street that you were about to walk down? 

Wakatoshi purses his lips in thought. “Coincidence, not luck,” he settles on. “When are you going back to Sendai?”

“I’ve got a ticket for seven-thirty,” Kaname says.

There’s a clock on the wall that reads five-thirty-six, and Wakatoshi’s gaze flickers to it almost imperceptibly. “Do you have time to stay for dinner?” he asks.

Kaname privately thinks that he’d give up his ticket and just go back in the morning if it meant he got this opportunity for longer. “We don’t spend enough time together,” he says. “Of course I have time now.”

“You can use the bathroom while I start cooking,” Wakatoshi says. “First door on the right.”

“Thanks,” Kaname says, taking the clothes and the towel as Wakatoshi holds them out.

The bathroom is like the rest of the flat—modern but compact, utilitarian in its design. Wakatoshi doesn’t have anything scattered around the sink; Kaname presumes it’s all in the cupboard behind the mirror. There’s just room for a shower, and Kaname is almost tempted to use the all the warm water he knows Wakatoshi can afford. He doesn’t, though, just towel-dries his hair until it starts sticking up again.

As predicted, Wakatoshi’s spare clothes are ludicrously oversized. He’s not only taller, but broader, and his spare shirt comes down to just above Kaname’s knees, and the socks are pooling around his ankles. It would be funny if it weren’t so embarrassing. Kaname tries on the bottom half, which is a pair of volleyball shorts, but not even a drawstring waist can save him now 

“Um,” Kaname calls out, opening the door a crack, “do you have anything smaller?”

“All my middle school clothes are still at my parents’ house,” Wakatoshi says mildly. Kaname would probably feel insulted if it were anyone else.

“Never mind,” Kaname calls, closing the door again. He stares himself down in the mirror, getting as far back as possible to see what he looks like, but when his back hits the wall he can just make out the hem of his shirt. He shrugs.

When he gets out, abandoning the shorts on the shower door handle, he carries his wet clothes to the kitchen, wrapped in the towel. “Can you point me in the direction of the drier?”

“Next door down from the bathroom,” Wakatoshi says.

He’s intent on the stove, frying some vegetables, and he looks up only briefly, as Kaname turns to leave. On his return, Wakatoshi is staring straight at him, vegetables lying dormant, quiet but for a few pops of oil. “Are you wearing the shorts under that?” Wakatoshi asks.

Kaname feels himself smile, and bites his lower lip inside his mouth to stop it from turning into a grin. “They were too big,” he says. “I left them in the bathroom.”

“Okay,” Wakatoshi says, his voice stilted, cracking on the last syllable.

A heat rises in Kaname’s cheeks as he plods into the kitchen, standing beside Wakatoshi as he goes back to the vegetables. “You don’t need to be shy,” he says. “We’re old friends.”

Wakatoshi doesn’t meet his eye when he says, “Yeah.”

Now, Kaname’s not so nervous anymore.

They sit down to eat at the kotatsu, knees touching at the table’s corner. It’s warm, familiar, not so hard given that they’ve spent most of their friendship at a distance. There’s no conversation, but Kaname likes the peace. After they’re finished, Wakatoshi looks up at the clock. Kaname keeps his eyes firmly on the wall-sized windows, lashed with rain, and the thunderclouds in the distance, the occasional flash of lightning.

“It’s seven-twenty,” Wakatoshi says. “You’ll probably miss your train. You can stay the night.”

“What a pity,” Kaname says, barely holding back a laugh. This time, Wakatoshi smiles with him—his smiles are small, usually localised at one corner of his mouth, and rare.

Kaname twists so that he’s facing Wakatoshi, and says, “I don’t suppose you could think of anything we can do to pass the time?”

Wakatoshi drops his chopsticks—Kaname hadn’t even noticed that he was still holding them—and slowly brings a hand up to the side of Kaname’s face. “Is this alright?” he asks.

This time, Kaname really _does_ laugh, loud for all the years he’s spent pining like an idiot, and for the years after that he’s been absolutely certain that his feelings are requited and done nothing. And when they kiss, and all the tension leaves his body, it’s not a resolution—it’s a beginning.

 

(The next morning, as Wakatoshi sees him off at the train station, he tells Kaname that if he  _does_  get the job in Tokyo, he’ll have a place to stay.)


	103. Ennofuta + early mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on dreamwidth, [here](http://memorde.dreamwidth.org/1514.html). 11/7/15

Sunrise is a grey light in the distance when Chikara wakes up and dimly notices it coming in through the blinds. It’s accompanied by the quiet sound of rain on the windowsill, gentle enough to pass as relaxing. He shuts his eyes again, turning on his side and away from the window.  
  
Kenji is still asleep—of course, for all his talk he’ll never quite be a morning person. He sleeps on his back and with his mouth open, his arms sticking out at odd angles. One of them is wedged uncomfortably between him and Chikara. If he’s not on his back, he’s on his side, one arm draped over Chikara and one arm, as always, wedged uncomfortably between them. Chikara is used to it. It’s Kenji’s left arm, it’s not like he needs it to spike.  
  
Lifting himself up, Chikara anchors himself to the bed with an elbow as he checks the clock on the other side of the bed. It’s almost seven. That’s perfectly reasonable.  
  
“Kenji.”  
  
Kenji rolls in the other direction, muffling his face in the pillow. He groans.  
  
“Kenji, come on,” Chikara says, “wake up.”  
  
“No,” Kenji says.  
  
“You’re awake,” Chikara says. “Please just accept it. It’ll make things easier for both of us.”  
  
Kenji curls his knees up to his chest. “You’re evil and I dislike you intensely.”  
  
“That’s more like it,” Chikara says. He lets himself fall back down onto the bed and winds an arm around Kenji’s waist, drawing him closer. Gradually, he shifts so that his cold toes align with the soles of Kenji’s feet.  
  
“Evil,” Kenji says, pulling himself even closer together. “The worst person I know.”  
  
“I can live with that,” Chikara says, “if it means waking up like this every morning.”  
  
“Gross,” Kenji says.  
  
“Maybe I’ll put that one in a screenplay,” Chikara says.  
  
Kenji doesn’t say anything, but he does relax a bit, so Chikara moves closer and buries his head in the crook of Kenji’s neck.  
  
“You know,” Kenji begins. Chikara doesn’t let him finish, kissing the back of Kenji’s neck, running his other hand down Kenji’s back.  
  
“I guess it’s one of these mornings,” Kenji says, shaking Chikara off and turning so they’re facing each other. Kenji is still half-asleep, eyes half-closed, but there’s just a bit of light from between the blinds hitting his face, and Chikara has never seen a scene so perfect.  
  
Chikara knocks their knees together, and Kenji responds by slipping Chikara’s legs between his own, tangling the two of them together. “It’s raining,” Chikara says. “Of course it’s one of these mornings.”  
  
“Put _that_ in a screenplay,” Kenji says.  
  
Chikara doesn’t really have a good response for that. He presses his mouth to Kenji’s, and Kenji’s lips part right away. It’s a slow, lazy kiss, because they’ve got enough time just to languish, to take the morning at their own pace. Chikara brings a hand up to the back of Kenji’s head, running fingers through his hair. Kenji’s hands are busy elsewhere, slipping under Chikara’s shirt and insistently pushing it upwards. It’s cold, though, so Chikara resists, deepening the kiss as a distraction, pulling Kenji closer towards him.  
  
It backfires—Chikara slides onto his back and Kenji follows above him, hands on either side. Kenji has never had very good manners, so it comes as no surprise to Chikara that he has the gall to laugh. Chikara has terrible manners too. He would probably be laughing if this was the other way around. As it is, though, Kenji’s got the upper hand, quite literally, and he slides one upper hand beneath Chikara’s shirt, nudging it towards freedom.  
  
“It’s cold,” Chikara huffs. “Have you no decency?”  
  
“None,” Kenji says proudly.  
  
Chikara’s shirt is off in the space of seconds, flung to the other end of the bed, and Kenji’s bending down, kissing his way from Chikara’s jaw, along his neck, to his collarbone. Chikara can feel himself sinking deeper into the bed. He can also tell he’s starting to lose control of his awareness—he’s always aware of when that happens. It’s like the last bit of his own agency he can cling onto before he becomes a being of pure experience. He always forgets what he wants to write down. Before he says goodbye to his impulse control entirely, he clings onto Kenji’s waist like he’s drowning—which he sort of feels like he is.  
  
The words leave his mouth quietly and without his permission—“Kenji, _marry me_ ”—but by some small act of mercy, Kenji doesn’t notice. He keeps going, pulling Chikara up so that they’re sitting, the blankets falling around them and leaving a rush of cold air in their place.  
  
Kenji brings his head back up and their mouths collide again, and Chikara vaguely registers that he’s kissing with a sense of urgency now, trying to wash his mouth out and pretend he didn’t just blurt out something embarrassing. He pushes forward with distraction tactics, pulling Kenji’s shirt up and over his head. Kenji, to his credit, doesn’t even shiver with the cold, just laughs.  
  
“Okay,” Kenji says.  
  
Outside, the rain gets heavier.  
  
“Okay what?” Chikara asks.  
  
“Okay, I’ll marry you, idiot,” Kenji says, pressing a palm to Chikara’s chest. His hands are surprisingly warm. Chikara’s heart starts beating faster.  
  
“I thought you didn’t hear,” Chikara says. “I didn’t mean to—”  
  
“—to blurt it out like that?” Kenji asks. “Or to ask at all? I mean, not that you really framed it as a question.”  
  
Chikara looks away, but he can’t keep the smile off his face. “Okay,” he says.  
  
“Okay,” Kenji says. “You make breakfast and I’ll call the registry office.”  
  
Chikara pushes him off the bed.


End file.
